Secrets Hidden In Plain Sight
by Hannanball13
Summary: Each day crawled by. ABQ WITSEC thrived. But Marshall's life had taken an unexpected turn- starting with his divorce. Everything had fallen apart, and just when he thought the darkness was rolling away, he had to send Mary to NYC. She would be gone for almost a year, and each time they spoke, Marshall couldn't help but wonder if she was hiding something from him.. Post Finale!
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Hello Everyone! I am back with another tale! And this one, I am many chapters ahead! I will hopefully post one/two chapters a week. I do hope you enjoy it! I've worked really hard! I was really excited when so many people like "Her Moment of Weakness," and hope you'll all give this one an equal shot!**_

_**Happy Reading!**_

_**XXX**_

It had been 15 weeks.

Marshall held a pen in his grasp, his fingers curving around the writing utensil as his elbow rested upon paperwork stacked a mile high. He held a fiercely critical expression upon his face; it was as though his features were jumbled between troubled and ponderous. His newly polished loafers gleamed in the meek sunlight still glowing through the cracks of the blinds, and he stared off at the dusty white shades in deep thought.

Slowly, he lifted himself from the office chair, advancing to the windows and exposed the setting sun. It glowed across the horizon, falling from the sky in just moments, and soon, he was observing the darkness filling the streets of Albuquerque.

He crossed back to the desk where he had been doting, and collapsed back into the seat. Marshall inspected the contents on its surface; it was undeniably no longer his. A fresh flower had begun its demise in a purple vase etched with flourishes and intricate designs, there was a pink mouse pad resting beside a cup filled with pens and pencils as well as a decorative bowl filled with incense. He shrugged, contemplating how much the floral scents were combatting the _nag champa_ redolence, and then sighed, peaking into his office, desolate and unwelcoming. Delia had no trouble making this area her own, but Marshall, nearly three years after his promotion to chief was still struggling to personalize his workspace.

He found himself perching at Delia's service on most days after the building cleared of Inspectors and he was left to his own devices. There had been something lost when his promotion had gone into effect, and he had kept that to himself. Yes, being Chief was honorable, and the pay was a fraction better than he had thought it would be, but it had come with responsibilities that mostly needed care for on paper. The glock resting in his holster was now for show more than anything, and his badge barely ever needed flashing whilst he worked his finger to the bone during the solidarity of his chiefly duties.

Marshall was lost in his thoughts when his eyes wandered to the adjacent desk, free of any embellishments aside from a framed picture. Every now and then, it was replaced with a more recent photograph as per diligence of Mary. It stared back at him; Norah Shannon smiled a front toothless grin, gazing toward his haggardness with captivation, while Mary did so as well. Except, it had not been him they were mesmerized over, but the tiny tot's large birthday cake, frosted in chocolate and aesthetically exquisite. To this day, Mary gloated that she had outdone herself.

It had taken her a few weeks to settle into her new groove in New York City and longer for the first phone call to fly through the many states of telephone wires, which only brought him conformation that she was feeling all but giddy about up and moving away from Albuquerque. Especially, since they had to displace Norah from Mark and Joanna for this short while. He had tried to take her every word with a grain of salt, but it was much too difficult sometimes when he listened to her mindless yammering. Marshall was well aware he was subjecting New York to something far worse than anything her words could conjure in him, so usually the scarlet in his face would vanish in a moments time. It was Mary, after all.

Marshall was a bit discouraged to hear of the implementation of training officers throughout the nation. WITSEC was being beefed up as crime rates increased in the U.S. and of course his office would be the first to feel the effects. A desperate co-Chief in the New York State WITSEC division has operations based partially in New York City, an easy place to push someone covertly into the background. D.C. was notified of his troubles shortly after an incident regarding one of their witnesses, and Stan McQueen quickly sent the burden to Albuquerque. Marshall Mann had no choice other than to handpick a Marshal, both worthy and qualified to run some wannabe Inspectors ragged. He was banking on Delia heading out, but an accident left her combatting a minor back injury. His options were few, for he could not fly any of his newly instated men into the concrete jungle, because they barely had hairs of experience on their chins. His well of willing volunteers was dry and he had no other choice than to victimize Mary, who in retrospect, was a faulty delegate to do the _revamping _the offices needed. She was never one of those strangers to look to in rough times; it took substantial trust for her to comfort you in any way. Even as her friend, sometimes it was challenging to obtain any sympathies from the woman.

Not to mention, he had been in such a bind, Marshall had not given her proper time to prepare, but he knew she would have the facilities to get herself in gear and be prompt to her calling in the Big Apple. But, it was not without scoffing, venom and utter nonsensical threats before she whole-heartedly agreed to be on the tarmac to board that five hour flight.

Marshall knew she would. Mary would never let him crash and burn in such a preventable way, and she was particularly considerate to how much he needed his career. She had been the same way at one point, grasping for any control she had left and as always she had found it in the Sunshine Building, where, now, Marshall was trying to do the same.

Mary had taken very much to complaining each time they spoke, although she had only been gone a few months, calls of her whining were not far and few between.

It was a strange coincidence, as if the thought of him not having spoken with her in a while had converged with her springing reflections, his phone was letting out an obnoxious tune which fit snugly into the silence next to his breathing.

"Marshall Mann_?_" He called into the phone.

"_How's molding in that office of yours, Chief?_" she greeted

"It's barely tolerable, Mary. But, I will not trouble you with the vast complaints of my boredom. How goes it in NYC?" Marshall replied cheerfully, pinning the cellular device to his cheek with his shoulder.

"_Jesus, just say, 'New York City'. You speak English not acronyms,"_ she teased lightly, and he could almost see her shoulders drop and her eyes roll in response. He heard her sigh and then she continued, "_Honestly, it sucks. I miss New Mexico, where I can breathe semi-clean air and not be assaulted by the mingling scents of truck exhaust and goddamn deli meats every time I leave the apartment. Not to mention, the subway puts my stomach in knots. They're not kidding about those bums."_ She scoffed, and he heard a humming of a radiator in the background.

Marshall leaned back in his chair, "There are nearly fifty-thousand homeless people in the city, Mary. But, do you know, the majority are children?" There was a short silence, which he took as her aggravated reply. "Anyway, how's the apartment? Is it up to snuff?"

"_Yeah, it's up to snuff. If you count snuffing out the cockroaches,_" Mary snorted. "_Really Marshall, are their nice apartments in this city?_" Marshall listened while she slammed a few unknown objects on a hard surface.

"While there **are** more charming dwellings in the Manhattan area, there are none inexpensive enough for the Marshal Service to spring for to house a family of three_._" Marshall grabbed his computer mouse and clicked on a hyperlink leading him to his e-mail inbox. His request for 'larger interim lodging for ABQ personnel' had been denied once more. He began to re-file the claim.

"_I don't want charming Marshall, I want insulated. Jinx has her winter coat on twenty-four/ seven!_" There was more slamming.

"Is Norah well?" he asked, avoiding his guilt for not being able to get her a better temporary home. "I assume you haven't let her outside for even a moment."

"_She's been out,_" Mary answered defensively. "_Just not for longer than a half an hour. I don't want her soaking up too much local BS. After all, we'll be back in Albuquerque in one-hundred nineteen days._" She responded with precision.

"I'm glad to know you're eager to return_._"

"_You can only imagine, there's a countdown written across a calendar on this dinky box the landlord calls a refrigerator_. _As soon as I don't have to get up for three A.M. jogs through dark alley ways, the better. Sharp shooting is my thing, not running. I hate running. My ankles swell, my throat burns, I'm telling you, if there was any time I wished that whole cop-doughnut stereotype was true, it'd be now._" Her exhalations were heavy through the earpiece, as if just by talking about the invigorating exercise made her experience the unavoidable effects.

Marshall furrowed his brow, "Perhaps if you're feeling overexerted, you should take it easy_._"

"_Take it easy? I'm not giving this pansy New York State Marshal one second to bust my chops! Besides, what possible harm can a few basic workouts do to me?_"

"No harm, exactly. I just want you to get back here in one piece, is all_," _he said noncommittally, even pulling some lint from his jacket, even though she couldn't see him.

"_Easy, Doctor Doofus. I'll be back, that's threat enough. Whether it's in pieces or just one sore blob…_" Mary joked, huffing loudly.

"A blob? I'm not sure you're giving yourself enough credit, you must be stretching the truth a bit. If you are forced to participate in such a vigorous workout regimen, shouldn't you be the opposite of… blobbish?" he playfully ridiculed, setting his feet atop the file cabinet near Delia's working abode.

"_It must be I'm dehydrated or something, because I'm all… puffy,_" she responded hesitantly.

"Well, then, up your intake of fluids_," _Marshall grappled politely, as if the problem was identifiable from Albuquerque. "But I do advise, if the problem persists, to seek medical attention_," _he began rifling through her folder, "I'm sure WITSEC has a befitting physician in the Big Apple."

Mary yawned obnoxiously, obviously in no mood to talk of doctors, "_I think I'm going to catch a few winks before the sun rises and Marshal Asswipe is blowing up my cell, claiming I'm late._"

Marshall frowned, suddenly aware of the time difference, it was well into the late evening there, and it would be rude to keep her any longer. "Of course, Mary. Do not hesitate to contact me if you need him taken care of. I'm sure I could arrange for him to take a scolding from our friend the Deputy Director_._"

"_You're not my keeper. I can take care of myself. Good Night, Cheekbones._"

The line had since gone dead, but he still sat there with his cellphone to his face. Marshall's heart thudded solemnly in his chest, for he would only be going home to an empty bed. He'd toss and he'd turn, and maybe his body would succumb to sleep. It was doubtful, though. He sighed, getting to his feet and taking an armful of his paperwork to pile back on his own desk. When the last sheet had been locked safely into his office, he grabbed his keycard, took a situating breath, took off out the door, and slid into the elevator.

What a special kind of hell this had been. No one prodded for the lowdown anymore when it came to the hairy details of the recent events, which he appreciated. Even Delia. All of this could have been so right, if it hadn't been for a few missteps only a few years ago. He could have had it all, and now, it felt like he had nothing. He traced one of the buttons on his blazer with his fingernail, occupying his fine motor skills in lieu of thinking.

When his feet transferred from the tile floor to the concrete pavement, the night air blew his hair from his forehead, and his face was suddenly chilled. As of late, Albuquerque seemed empty. The perpetual bickering he was so accustomed to, staid trapped in New York. He hadn't done it purposely; he hadn't sent her miles away for any reason, none at all. It sure_ seemed_ that way, and he knew she _felt _that way. There was nothing which he needed this time to mull over, he had been mulling for ten years, and did most of his thinking only the past couple of them. As old as he was, and was becoming, he always thought he'd have it all figured out by now. But, in actuality, he was just coming to the realization that had been creeping up on him for a decade, he felt cold, he felt lonely, and he felt tired without that wonderful nagging to his right. Marshall Mann would give anything to be five years in the past- when everything was so much less complicated.

It had happened fourteen weeks ago with Mary, fulfilling as it was, it was long gone. The Chief shoved his hands into his pants pockets, shaking his head at the memory, still from disbelief.

It didn't matter, he thought.  
Marshall had been officially divorced a week before their fling anyway.

**Any guesses as to where this is going faithful readers?! **

**I hope you all enjoyed. PLEASE Review and tell me what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Well, thank you for those compliments and all of that interest! That's thoroughly exciting! You guys have me down, but I hope you enjoy anyway!  
Enjoy!**_

It had been 16 weeks.

He was pouring a cup of black coffee, chewing over locking himself into his dismal office, and passing out on his futon. Delia came up from behind him, smirking, eyes glazed over, apparently medicated. She limped around him to set a basket of muffins on the counter. "Good morning, Chief!" the woman chirped, wobbling on her feet for a split second and then, regaining her balance.

"A morning it is, Delia. _Good_ may be an overstatement," he replied, sipping at the hot liquid in solemnity.

"Uh-oh, trouble in The Sunshine Building?" she wondered, arranging a napkin near the basket to catch crumbs. She was partially occupied with her baked goods, hazy from the meds, and only half listening to her boss.

"Bingo," Marshall sighed. "It's been rather difficult being short an inspector, and down two for fieldwork." He took special care not to sound accusing, and made pleasant eye contact with the woman to further along the conversation, "Mary comes back in one-hundred and twelve days."

"That's an awfully lengthy countdown there, Chief." She turned to grab a cup from the top shelf, which Marshall could see was going to be problematic. He reached over the Inspector and pulled her floral mug from the back of cabinet. Marshall gently set it down on the surface near the pot of caffeine, and kindly nodded in her direction.

"Don't work yourself too hard, Delia," Marshall warned tiredly, "I can't afford another one of my Marshal's out of my reach."

He heard her chuckle, but was well on his way into his office and was in no mood to maintain a friendly disposition. As he was fighting his uneasiness toward beginning the stacks of paperwork, to his surprise his WITSEC phone started to yell. Plopping down in his place, he pressed the receiver to his face and huffed, "Chief Mann."

"_Marshal?! What the hell is your Inspector's problem?!_" It was Lance Carter, the Chief in the New York City WITSEC Office.

"Excuse me?" Marshall Mann sat up in his chair, his brow furrowed. He had an inkling he knew what inspector the man on the other end of the line was talking about, but he was to remain oblivious in hopes of a miracle.

"_Your Marshal, Mary Shannon cold cocked one of my high potential trainees and I wanted to know why the hell you would send her here_?!" the man growled, "_this was supposed to be a revamping_. _Now, I have a cop with a broken nose and two black eyes, and no way to control the busty blonde in the weight room! Were you in your right mind when you threw her on the plane, or were you just trying to get rid of her?! _"

"She may not be good humored or sunshiney, but she's a hell of a good Marshal!" he defended, "There has to be a good reason for this physical altercation, do you know _why _Inspector Shannon was possessed to do something of that nature?" Marshall frowned, trying to understand why Mary would haul off and hit a man without good reason, then, the other half of the conversation took an understandable turn.

"_Well, apparently, in the midst of this morning's workout,_" he coughed, "_there may have been some disrespectful comments thrown around…_"

His eyebrows rose, "Was the disrespect on Mary's end?"

There was a short silence, and then a sigh, "_Um, no. But, the point is-_

"I don't need a lengthy explanation, what did your Inspector say?" Marshall interrupted, slightly ticked off by the call.

"_It's unclear at the present time._"

The aggravated Chief ran his fingers through his hair, searching through his inbox for any messages from Mary defending herself, but there were none. This led Marshall to believe the punch that was thrown must have been in proper rationale. "Don't give me that cowardly, dim-witted response. If you weren't aware of the precise reason for the argument, you wouldn't have called. Now, tell me the true vindication for this impromptu discussion and perhaps I can take disciplinary action." He was lying, he wouldn't be punishing her, even if she did deserve it.

"_One of the trainees may have called her 'round',_" the man replied hesitantly.

"Round?!" Marshall parroted disbelievingly.

"_Not 'round', but, a variation of it._"

"What _exactly _did he say?" Marshall sighed again, "Don't prance around the facts, Lance."

"He called her a _linebacker._"

He cringed, understanding flooding his mind, and a response quickly clearing his lips, "Not to be unprofessional, but don't you think such harsh words were rightly countered with bloodshed? If I remember correctly, when I sent my Inspector, although shapely, she was not, a _linebacker._" Marshall gritted his teeth at the idea of someone having the gull to spit such slander at Mary, fully prepared to safeguard both her career and her pride to the bitter end. But, it seemed that Chief Carter was easily tongue-tied so shortly into the heated chat.

"_Uh, well, she's definitely not, a—I will see to it that it is appropriately taken care of._"

"And you assure me that Inspector Shannon will not be unfairly punished?" Marshall added sternly.

"_No harsh treatment, Marshall._ _But, perhaps a small warning would be in order?_"

"Yes, but your discretion is advised," he smiled amusedly to himself, crossing his legs. "You obviously have not learned your ways with my Inspector yet."

With that he hung up the phone.

He had never been so unmotivated during the entire stint of his time in the Marshal Service. It had seemed so romantic at first to hold a title which tied him tightly to the ABQ WITSEC office, but now, Marshall found often he was wishing he was Inspector Mann again, and working feverishly beside the others who now quietly performed outside of these four, darksome walls. Perhaps he'd be in New York instead of Mary, if Stan hadn't given him the position so kindly. He did appreciate it, and his whining was seldom, for he would never want to appear falsely unappreciative for this opportunity. But, if he were honest with himself, on days where the work wasn't as tedious, and the calls were not rapid and back to back, he'd get to puzzling if this job was still where he belonged. Being aptly named for the employment in this branch of law enforcement was becoming less and less desirable.

Marshall had grey strands of hair growing into his formerly always deep brown locks. The toll of it all, the new job, the divorce, and moving Mary to a different time zone was stressful, and it wasn't difficult to see it in the man. The lurking snowy hairs made their debut only a year ago. Norah had a case of the flu, the poor little one had to spend a few nights hooked up to an I.V. in a pediatric E.R. because she was having trouble keeping down even just sips of water. In a panic, Mary had called, and it hadn't gone over well with Abigail. The moment was intimate, and Marshall had every intention of ignoring the phone but, he found it impossible. Four calls, and thirty-three rings in, he covered himself with a sheet and picked up his iPhone. He could feel her eyes like icepicks on the back of his neck even now, just thinking about it. Abigail's breath was close on his neck, _Make your decision, Cowboy. But, if I have to wait fifteen more seconds, these pajamas are going back on._  
What a manipulative tease.  
He had answered it. He had spent a night cramped and curled up on a cushioned waiting room bench, Mary's head resting on his stomach, his movements few, because he knew she hadn't slept in days. He would never be able to truthfully admit he regretted having to leave his wife that night.

Not only did his mop take a beating, his form was haggard, his face having aged considerably in the past months as well. The boyish complexion had been riddled with wrinkles shortly into his marriage to Abigail. He'd find himself awake at four in the morning, wondering where the redhead was off to, and most often he'd shrug it off to roll over and close his eyes again. Marshall believed, maybe if he had taken that time to be untrustworthy, or act jealous, or worked up the energy to accuse her of the infidelity she thought she was being covert about, their marriage wouldn't have been grinded so finely into dust. It was young, fragile and they didn't make the effort to fix it when it was still fixable. The divorce had taken longer, had been messier, she had taken Oscar. It was a pretty unprincipled deal. She got to commit sexual acts with a temp at the Police Department, and then when the proverbial cap was unscrewed, got the dog as a parting gift.

This time, when his pocket rumbled he was expecting her.

"Marshall Mann?" He smirked, already knowing what she was going to say, but wasn't expecting the shaky, tired tone that filled his ears.

"_I can explain._" She breathed heavily into the phone.

"Are you alright?" the question came accidentally, he would have much preferred to avoid her snapping at him.

"_I called to explain, not to talk about my health, Marshall!_" there was a lengthy pause, and a sigh, "_Some kid called me fat, today." _Her voice quavered, the usual, tense, hard tone was dry, actually quite hurt. It caused a silent shiver to pulse down his spine and his smile to dissipate from his face.

"I was informed. Carter is taking care of it," Marshall knew this wouldn't be a good enough reassurance, so he continued, "I'll see to it every WITSEC branch from here to hell knows he disrespected you if need be."

"_So, you're cool with me_- there were these noises which he couldn't make out, then came static as if she had dropped the phone and after, a loud 'click'.

He had been worried. Mary was being uncharacteristically soft spoken, and never had he heard that kind of break in her words, never one of undeniable hurt. It was usually seething rage that spewed from her lips with such ease. He had begun to think perhaps that her sadness could only be churned and conjured with Norah's small childhood troubles- the high fevers, the scrapes and bruises, that one time she bounced her head off the coffee table only a few weeks into being steady on her own two legs. Mary had never been unhappier than when Norah was unhappy. And, on one other occasion, which Marshall barely ever brought up. The death of James was in their rearview, but so fresh in her memory. So crisp in its existence it was, he had caught Mary in the midst of reliving that fateful day. They shared a hotel room, Marshall slept upon the firm, depreciated loveseat, his legs resting on the arm, while Mary tossed and turned in the queen, wrapped in blankets, sweaty, uncomfortable and shouting in her sleep. He had awoken her, a touch of his fingertips to her clammy skin, one more yell- this time startled came from her mouth and she looked up at him with hazy, wild eyes, _what's your problem, doofus? Don't you think its creeptastic enough to sleep in the same room with you? _

This time, a knock.

"Sir, D.C. just contacted me, said your line was busy," she scanned him over, "Somethin' wrong?"

Marshall looked up, "No. Sorry, I just received a rather strange call from Mary, who promptly hung up in the middle of her own sentence."

"I'm sure it's just bad connection. There are big ol' buildings in New York, probably ducked under an awning and lost ya," she smiled, obviously just trying to make him feel better.

"That's a theory, although, I am ninety-eight percent certain she was closed up into one of their training facilities up there. But, you know, Mary's Mary," he shrugged, placing his calling device on his desk.

"Do I ever," Delia agreed jokingly.

In the squabble that ensued when Stan departed, and Marshall was thrown into Chief-hood, Mary had to be placed with another partner. It couldn't be him. He missed that the most. Inspector Parmalee was next in line to take on the overwhelming duty of keeping Mary calm, cool and collected. She had taken to the position with grace, which Marshall couldn't be any more thankful for. It could have been disastrous, but thanks to a seemingly mellower Mary Shannon these days, they slid into the daily grind with each other with ease. That's not mentioning the increase of Mary's day to day bitterness, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. Delia was well versed in counters and, laudable verbal retorts by now, having learned from observing Marshall's benevolence in light of Mary's attitude.

Noticing he wouldn't be saying anything else, Delia closed the door quietly, and he grabbed the receiver of his office phone, but hesitated, thinking she'd be calling him back soon. He put the phone down carefully as not to make a noise of defeat.

She didn't call him back.

It had happened fifteen weeks ago with Mary, fulfilling as it was, it was long gone. The Chief dialed D.C. WITSEC's extension, shaking his head at the memory, still from disbelief.

It didn't matter, he thought.  
Marshall had been officially divorced a week before their fling anyway.

_**Please Review and tell me what you think! **_

_**Mary McCormack wished me a late Happy Birthday, I feel very grateful!  
Hope you liked it!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Yeah Yeah, I know, I am horribly inept. But, here is the chapter, and I hope you enjoy. It's been so long since I've written it, I can't remember what it's about. But, I must have liked it to keep it. So, here it is, I hope you enjoy!**_

_**Thank you to everyone who had been reading, reviewing and alerting, I literally cannot put into words how grateful I am for you all!**_

It had been 17 weeks.

Marshall listened for a few moments on his end of the line before finally cringing.

"_This isn't working, numb-nuts!_" she whined. "_I still feel like hell._"

She was apparently combatting some flu, and Marshall had been instructing her as to how she could breathe without making her stomach more upset, seeing as she complained mostly about the scents of the city.

Marshall was worried, spewing questions Mary didn't want to answer, one of them being, "Did Jinx mention if you had a fever?"

"_No, there's definitely not a fever,_" she replied strangely. "_No fever at all_" there was an airy tone to her voice.

"Mary, if this continues—

"_See a doctor, yeah, yeah,_" she interrupted. "_You're like a broken record. I've already been to one, just waiting for a call…_"

"Should I let you go, then?" he wondered half-heartedly, pen to paper as if he were working.

"_This isn't nineteen- forty. Cellphone's have call waiting_," Mary spat.

Marshall heard a deep breath, a gasp into the phone, a few unidentifiable sounds, and then, that static again.

But, this time she came back, "_Sorry. I- I thought I heard Norah calling."_

He knew she was lying. She had been sick, but as Mary was, she would never admit it.

"Of course," he replied earnestly.

"_So," _Marshall was strangely excited for a conversation to really begin, but was disappointed before she could even bring up topic. "_Shit, Marshall. That's the WITSEC physician; I'll call you back later, okay?_"

"Yes, uh, good luck."

"_Relax, it's not cancer, probably just a… parasite or something_," she trailed off.

"Okay Mare, answer the other call," Marshall demanded kindly. "In the meantime, I'll get some work done."

The silence confirmed she had switched over. He would have loved to have been a fly on the wall during the conversation, because it was unlike Mary to be laid up in bed when there were things to be done. Even if she didn't want to do the job, she was still Mary, and things could not be left to someone else after they had been deemed her responsibility. Since her father had passed, she was trying to control only the controllable, but after living so many years of her life trying to do the opposite, it was difficult, and only Marshall could see that.

They had both gotten to that point in their lives where surprises had been unwelcome to them. Unfortunately, when he had been living with Abigail the surprises were plentiful. One of which stuck out in his mind much more than the others.

She came to him, only weeks after the nuptials, with that devilish smirk that only hinted she was up to something. Abigail had never been one to come out and say things as they came to her mind. Everyone else called it having a filter, but Marshall just labeled it 'not being like Mary'. He had always preferred people who told him things straight, that's how his father was, he had been brought up not to skate around his intuition. Unless of course, it had something to do with Mary, and in that case, the only possible solution was to vaguely reveal his findings. Mary comes out and tells him what she wants; whether it is one of his old cases he can no longer juggle, or just a coffee order. It was effortless for her. But, as Marshall had come to realize, that's not how most women operated, especially Abigail.

It had been a long day and he had cracked open a bottle of wine, filled two glasses as he always would, and brought them to the end table. He set the goblets on coasters and shared one, healthy serving of an alcoholic beverage with his wife. That's when, much like the wine, things were sweet. But, that night, was their first, real fight as a married couple, and it was a doozy. It hadn't even been a month. She scooted closer and closer until she was nearly atop of the all but frisky Marshal. _I'm ready. _Abigail said in a hushed twang. Marshall stretched his back. This had been a day for the history books. Mary had needed a sitter for Norah, and had done something so uncharacteristic, thinking about it made him shudder. _Listen Marshall, you know I wouldn't ask, but my entire family is there, Brandi can really burst an eardrum when she's in pain and I want Norah to be a part of __**none**__ of it. _Even though she seemed to be giving him no choice, standing at his doorstep in the late hours of the evening, he had kindly taken the child. She was sweet, she liked him, and liked Abigail. At first, Abigail didn't like the idea, but as the night progressed apparently she had been getting ideas of her own.

_Ready for what? _Apparently, it had been the wrong thing to respond with. He was only half awake, and with each sip of his beverage his eyelids were only becoming heavier. Abigail didn't seem to understand that.

_You know… __**ready. **_

_Abs, I really have no idea what you're talking about. _He examined a spot which hadn't been on his collar before this adventure, and settled on classifying it as apple sauce, or bananas, and then just shrugged to himself, because it was such a trivial topic that needn't his internal struggle.

_A __**baby, **__Marshall. _

His brow raised unintentionally, a soft snort escaped from his throat, _a baby. _He had stated it, not asked, not repeated it in consideration, and not even disbelief, but verbalized it just to make certain that it's what she had told him.

_Yep, that's what I said, Cowboy. _These words were hesitant, and said through slightly clenched teeth. Her face was beginning its transition to a shade of red brighter that he'd only seen once before. Only one time prior to this had he ever witnessed the transformation of her sun kissed southern shade from peachy, to scarlet, and it was the night he was called away from their engagement party by Mary. That night they hadn't ever really discussed, and was only a night Abigail decided to bring up during a 'special' walk with Oscar. That day- Marshall always thought- was the day it would have been so much easier to walk away. He smelled trouble the moment she had asked him to make that fated choice. Unfortunately, it was later he'd find out he made the wrong one.

_Abs, _he chuckled softly, _it hasn't been… long enough._ What a mistake.

_Don't you want a baby?_ Her face was unforgettable, as if he had just stuck a knife in her back. _You were wonderful with Norah, tonight. _It was bitterly sugarcoated.

_A baby?!_ He had wanted to say_, A baby?! Right now?! NOW?! Excellent timing! Just GREAT!_ Norah hadn't needed much caring for, Mary had done most of it, he had been handed the dozing babe and then thanked. Her mother left promptly after the exchange of the diaper bag. He hadn't expected her to come back so early, apparently back seated by Peter in the delivery room. She was thankful Norah had only required a banana, or apple sauce… whatever it had been. That baby was different. He had believed that since the day she was born, she was blonde, and her curls bounced, and her dimples shown in such a wonderful fashion, she was unlike any other child. He wasn't ready for a kid different than that; he wasn't ready for that leap. Not yet. Not with Abigail. He was guilty for being so unsure, so ready to shake his head, 'no'.

But, he had controlled himself. _Yes, I do. I've always wanted kids. Just not, right now. _He gripped the goblet in his hand with such force he could almost feel it cracking.

Abigail frowned, her lips curling solemnly and frustrated before she escaped to their bedroom. She hadn't spoken with him for the rest of the night, which was no shock, as her expression had twisted into such a mixture of betrayal and anger. She acted as if he had purposely tickled the blonde tot for the past hour, and intentionally seemed disappointed when she departed just so he could have pro-Mary grounds to disagree with the reddish-brown haired lady about their status in the reproduction department.

Marshall sighed; it had been only a minor speed bump now that he looked back. It had seemed a substantial one at the time. Abigail was a bigger grudge holder than Mary. That was obviously saying a lot. He noticed he was gesturing through this memory, and he stopped, to take a look at his phone in the nick of time. It lit up; no picture shown upon the glass screen, just the large white lettering reading 'Mary'.

"Hey, what did the doc have to say?" he answered brightly.

There was this slight hesitation as if she were about to say something so very upsetting that its articulation was nearly impossible. But, what he heard did not seem in need of such a large moment of them exchanging breath sounds over the telephone. "_I am slightly anemic_," she said. "_It explains a lot_."

"Ah yes, anemia. Although particularly annoying, it is not life altering, and can be fixed with medication, even herbs have been known to combat such instances of low red blood cells. I assume you'll be engaging in the practices of Western Medicine, though. Quicker, and less tedious," he was just rambling now. He could feel her peculiar discomfort from his office in Albuquerque, and she was somewhere in New York. All he wanted to do was find something- anything- to comfort the hellish apprehension that rose with her continuance of speech.

"_Doctor said I have to slow down."_ She was odd in saying her next few words, "_I was more than aware of that, already, it's just_," an even louder exhalation into the phone, one signifying strangely she was holding back tears, "_it's just… it's so different when someone with a Ph.D. tells you, then it's… it's real_."

"Mare, anemia is really fairly simple, a completely explicable affliction, it's nothing to become flustered or worry over. It's common for people, especially women to suffer from it, justifiable by biology and evolution," he stated simply, preparing his ears to find consolation in her voice, but he was let down by her bizarre tone.

"_Oh, yeah. I- I know. I guess I'm just kind of disappointed… you know, just going to miss those two a.m. routines. I thought I was really starting to feel them in my gluts_," she lied.

He didn't know why he wouldn't believe her. "Are you sure that's everything? Did he mention anything else?"

"_No_," she seemed to contemplate. "_Nothing abnormal_," a far out response, her voice nearly went up an octave.

She was inching around something. He could tell. "Is there anything you're worried about he didn't address?" Marshall pried.

"_No, he pretty much beat it with a stick_," Mary responded somewhat warily.

"If he has gone as far as fustigating the findings, I can be of no assistance." Marshall put his pen down, wondering if she'd curse him out for playing on her play on words, but there was just quiet. He cleared his throat, "Do you want me to make a few calls, I can explain to Lance the situation—

"_No. No. Don't do that_," she shuddered into the mouthpiece. "_I really have to get going, tell Delia I say 'hi'. Night, Chief_."

He sat there. His brow furrowed, taken by the conversation. Confused more than anything, he slid the phone into his jacket pocket. _Tell Delia, I say __**hi**__. _What was going on in that big city he didn't know about? He wondered if he should still make that call he had offered up during that muddled dialogue, but he didn't have the guts. If Mary ever found out, she'd never forgive him and pricks like Lance Carter held such gestures over people's heads, used it as bait, stretched it to unrecognizable shapes and he had no room for that kind of game. Not in his mind, not on his desk. Whatever may have baffled her would come to light eventually, he knew that for sure.

He sat back. She had complained of dizziness quite often, but the anemia fully explains the bouts of vertigo, and even the nausea. Marshall couldn't understand why iron pills could be so intimidating, was he just being naïve? He sighed. This was just another perfect example of how much time he had gotten to think in this switch to Chief. Too much. He was overanalyzing, Mary was anemic- it was a relief. Now they could help her feel well again.

But, if that was the case, why did he still feel so uneasy?

Maybe it was because that encounter was slithering across the depths of his mind again. It had to be. It had happened sixteen weeks ago with Mary, fulfilling as it was, it was long gone. It was a bone rattling few seconds each time it passed through the space in between his ears. Not a mistake. He would never consider it a mistake, just spur of the moment. He had to stop letting it catch him off guard, he had to stop letting it take over his core, spring sweat to his hairline, and confuse his body even more- not when he needed to focus. He glanced down at the file he had been scribbling in earlier, repeating over and over to himself it was time to work, not worry.

It didn't matter, he thought, there was nothing to feel guilt over, no reason to be anxious.  
Marshall had been officially divorced a week before their fling anyway.

_**I surely hope you have enjoyed, please review and tell me what you think, my lovelies!**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Here's the next update! Thanks for reading my good friends! **_

It had been 18 weeks.

A string of messages had been sent between the two of them for the past couple of days. It seemed Mary was avoiding actual phone calls since their last chat, which Marshall was trying not to find peculiar.

Mary: _Albuquerque still there?_

He chuckled, swiping his fingertips across the touch screen to answer.

_-To my knowledge, yes. But I haven't left the Sunshine Building in twenty three hours. I could be rocketing along the Milky Way by now. Is there a window nearby? Check to make sure the sky -isn't falling. -_

Mary: _you seriously think there are windows in this building? they aren't dumb enough to filter light in from the outside, trainees will think there's an escape. you should know that, doofus. you're one of THEM now._

He laughed, responding quickly,  
-_You make it sound so unsettling to be a Chief. How goes that anemia?-_

He had been wondering how it was being treated, if he could explain anything to her, and thought maybe he could pry out why she had been so rattled by it.

Mary: _taking some special vitamins to help. speaking of Chiefs, whats-his-douche hasnt called you, has he?_

She was the queen of deflection. He decided to go along with it, thinking if he laid off of her about that far out phone call last week, perhaps he would be hearing her voice rather than reading along to it in his head.

_-Not that I am aware of.- _

He locked his phone, (even though she would be responding shortly) when there came a knock.

"Come in!" he called, chucking his pen into the cup of utensils to his left. He ran his fingers through the hair on his scalp, it was surely a mess. He hadn't taken a comb through it since yesterday morning, or the last- he doubted anyone was looking at his do anyway.

It was Delia- as it always seemed to be. "Hey, Chief Mann I just wanted to mention, I brought muffins!"

"The coffee ones?" he asked like a small child, "or the batter filled chocolatey ones?" Marshall gestured excitedly toward the kitchenette outside his door.

"They're Mary's favorite," Delia replied. "Coffee, and mocha frosted- my own recipe…" The dark woman smiled proudly, as if having Mary's approval over the delectable made it worthy of her pride. "Speaking of that busty blonde, have you heard from her?"

Marshall glanced at her suspiciously, "She _has _been texting me." He contemplated his next sentence, not wanting it to sound like he was obsessing, and decided he'd add it casually. "She hasn't called me in a few days," he said, looking at his fingernails.

"You two have been tighter since…" Delia trailed off, realizing he'd rather her not bring up the divorce. "Well, you just seem… different together. Like somethin' snapped right before she left, there was no… tension," she finished weakly. Mary had most definitely beat most of the gossipy notions out of her, they had been working together for quite some time now.

Marshall was on the fast track to blushing. "We've known each other for years; maybe we just hit a patch in our relationship that needn't the drama any longer. Mary and I have always been straight with each other." This statement caused him to sit up, like a shock had been sent through his spine, because it was so untrue. The Inspector before him grew a wide smile, displaying her pearly whites to compliment the mischievous glint in her brown eyes.

"Have you?" she asked playfully, shutting the door behind her, her ears at the ready for whatever her boss was about to spill, obviously getting back that spark of over-curiousness now that Mary had been away for a few months.

"Yes, Inspector Parmalee," he replied through a clenched jaw. "I don't quite understand what you could be getting at. Your implications about Mary and I's personal relationship are—

"_Personal relationship_?!" she repeated with obnoxious inflection. "Sounds like a scandal in the Sunshine Building!" Delia chuckled.

Marshall grabbed a pen, frustrated with her knowing retorts. Delia had an uncanny way of getting you to spill the beans, even if they weren't entirely your beans to be spilling, or appropriate to even be discussing. It was foolish for him to believe that nosy part of her had been diminished, or even just rusty. "There shall be no more talk of the friendship I have with your partner," he demanded, attempting to halt the conversation.

"Jeez, Chief, we both know she'll never really be my partner. She'll always be yours," she sighed, wiping a few crumbs from the futon and then, setting her bottom on the very edge. "You two were unstoppable together. I don't know what happened in between those days and now." The woman was being sincere. Everyone had seen the not-so-steady, really very abrupt separation of the two shortly before Abigail and Marshall's wedding day. And as soon as he married the detective, they understood why it had happened.

Delia took to disliking Abigail as much as Mary some days. Especially, when the brunette would show up in the middle of the day, and holler at their Chief. She didn't understand that the walls were thin when it came to the overpowering projection she as a Southern Bell was endowed with.

"I think Mary and I have taken to each other again. We are experts at denying the past, and are attempting to put these previous years of… difficulty, in our rearview. " he replied, seriously.

"I'll say." She had her hands on her knees, glancing around the office in certain disapproval. She was apparently thinking of ways to improve the dinginess, but Marshall was running low on patience for her brown nosing and truthfully burning remarks.

"I think it's time you return to your desk, Inspector," Marshall ordered politely, a smirk upon his face as he gripped at his vibrating phone, hoping she wouldn't catch a glimpse at the sender on his I.D.

"Okie dokie, Chief. But, remember, there's muffins!" she reminded obediently as she made her way out the door. The soft scoffing she let escape from her mouth faded as she made her way back to her desk, and Marshall was left with only the hum of his computer modem. The machine worked feverishly against the dust in its fan, and the sound was less than delightful.

Mary: _good. _

Marshall was upset,

_-How vague… what would he be contacting me for?- _

Mary: _just wondering…. I can wonder, cant I?_

_-Don't get sassy. I was just hoping you'd be a little more specific.-  
_He raised his brow, not wanting an argument.

Mary: _sassy? give me a break. I have to end this lovely back and forth, it's time for me to go be 'Drill Sergeant Bitch'._

_-'Drill Sergeant Bitch'? That's not too endearing of a name to give yourself, Inspector.-_

Mary: _to these pansies I've rightfully earned it. go back to your signatures and files, I have to go work the ever loving hell out of some wrongfully entitled assholes. talk soon._

Marshall rolled his eyes, dropping the phone into his lap. He couldn't imagine how she could make such a bad name for herself so quickly, between Lance Carter contacting him so often to complain of his inspector's indiscretions, as well as that story from only a couple of weeks ago about that man unwisely calling Mary some hurtful names. His Mary was different, or maybe he just saw her in a different way. Maybe the moment he saw her when she got back to Albuquerque he would understand every one of the New York Marshal Service's misgivings. But until then, he would remain in denial, wondering how the Mary he put on that plane could be faring so mediocrely in the Big Apple.

_It wasn't giving up,_ he tried to convince himself as he set himself down on the couch.

He was dozing off, slowly, steadily; he let his eyelids droop over his screaming, bloodshot eyeballs, and felt the indescribable sanctity of sleep overcome him. Every one of his limbs fell limp, and his head slid from the armrest to the cushion, so he was sprawled comfortably across the futon.

_The hot breath against his neck, the overwhelming urges he had waited so long to succumb to- they were all too much, all working against him. Gravity pulled him closer, even closer, until his hands were set firmly on her hips, the long overdue exploration had him tickling her sides with his fingertips. He heard the thumping of his heart in his ears, felt it in his throat, and braced himself for those fireworks. _

_He had gotten to know those fireworks very well throughout the years. Whenever she was close enough to touch, to hold, to breathe in, a spark ignited in his body, and in his mind. It crackled with each passing moment, but he had always ignored it, he had always let it fizzle away when they parted, so he could disregard what it meant. _

_It wasn't until that moment, where the quickness of his hands, and the stealth she had acquired through the years clashed. And they clashed in such a fulfilling way- a natural, unforced manner he would never be able to recreate with anyone else. They were smooth, precise with their handiwork; excited in the heat of it. The static relationship they had before evanesced, leaving behind a commodious appeal that allowed them to hold each other for hours afterward, and allowed for them to drift away for a much needed moment of personal redistribution of deliverances. She was the one who left, quietly, in the dead of the night. _

_He was there alone, kicking at the empty covers in frustration, embarrassment, and longing. What had he done? _

Marshall awoke with a start; a throbbing in his head accompanied the stillness that had strangely coaxed him from his slumber. He thought surely, this time she'd be there when he opened his eyes. But, as it was, it always happened the same way. She was still in New York. She would be for 14 more weeks. And, she would only return to the same thing she had left- a crumbling, confused man, grabbing for the past, and searching for a do over that he would never receive. A failed marriage and a spotty friendship was no track record that was deserving of a second chance. He felt ordinary, the same as any other man. He hadn't always felt that way. He hadn't always felt all but extraordinary. And he was supposed to be 'Mr. No-two-snowflakes.' But now, he was just fluttering down to the ground, and dissolving like the rest. His prime was gone like every other man who had flunked a bond so sacred, and destroyed one even more important to do it. He was melting into the ground, no longer extravagant, wildly unmotivated and obviously unremarkable.

She was this wild beast, untamable, beautiful, exotic. She was everything he wasn't. Nothing he could ever be. Why had she let him have her? To take her in, why did she let him do it?

Why had _he_ let himself?

It had happened eighteen weeks ago with Mary, fulfilling as it was, it was long gone.

It didn't matter, he thought, there was nothing to feel guilt over, no reason to be anxious.  
Marshall had been officially divorced a week before their fling anyway.

_**Please Review and tell me what YOU think!? I hope you enjoyed!**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N : Thank you everyone, my faithful readers, and the new ones of acquired! You all make me very happy! I'm sorry, Marshall does seem a bit thick in this fic, but it will be okay in the end. It's totally worth it! **_

_**Stick with it! I hope you enjoy!**_

It had been 19 Weeks.

Marshall was lying on a chair, his feet dangling over one arm, his head resting on the other. His head was heavy on his shoulders, the TV rambled with late night infomercials. He yawned, nearly jumping out of his skin when his phone let out a scream. He glanced at his watch on his wrist, a little ticked off at the unexpected caller this time of night, but quickly lightened up when he read those familiar, four letters across his touch screen. With a smile, he jabbed at the 'talk' button with his fingertip.

"Hey, is everything alright," he glanced at his watch again, "it's like 12:33 in the A.M. in your world, isn't it?" Marshall chuckled half-heartedly, a yawn escaping from the mixture of fake optimism and sleepiness. It was difficult to act as if it was acceptable she was still so far away.

"_Yeah, it's late,_" Mary replied unfazed. "_I was just having some trouble sleeping. I didn't mean to wake you." _

He could almost see her shrugging her shoulders, a partial pout on her thin lips, he responded with less tiredness corroding his tone to be reassuring, "You didn't. I was simply taking a cat nap in between bouts of paperwork, phone calls to D.C, and such." Marshall grunted, sitting up. "Stan has apparently been pulling off as many all-nighters as I have."

"_Being the big men of WITSEC isn't all it's cracked up to be for you fellas, huh?_"  
There was an evasive sadness saturating the reply, one that made him unsure of how to respond himself. He wasn't feeling cheery, he felt hazy, only willing to talk because it was Mary.

"There are times when I look back to those early years and think they were the 'good ol' days,'" he said shyly, not wanting negativity to be featured anywhere in his statement. He loved being Chief, he loved ABQ WITSEC. It was the way it came down on him that he didn't like. He could feel accomplished one moment, and then turn around to be bludgeoned with tedious budget cuts or trivial complications, such as the brawl that had ensued with Mary and that NYC fellow only a few weeks back.

She snorted, "_You mean, before I came around?_"

Marshall was skeptical to answer, because he knew she wouldn't be comfortable with it. "Ehh," he played, "maybe the best times were when you were on your maternity leave," he joked weakly.

"_My what?_" Mary choked quietly.

"I was joshing you. It was kinda… I mean Norah was a wonderful excuse to be away for so long, but," the joke had lost its meager thunder, his heart was sinking, and his cheeks were burning as he began to think she thought he was serious. "In actuality, it was all the years before, when you were my partner, and those short months after you came back… _those _were the good ol' days," he whispered.

"_Oh, Marshall," _she replied hushed. The radical, sad undertones in the syllables caused a chill to make its way down his spine, and he almost shuddered.

"I'm sorry. I know you don't like it when I get to reminiscing," he apologized, knowing how she loathed talking about any type of the past. She had always been that way.

"_I'm a stickler for forgetting the happiest moments,_" Mary said in more truthfulness than play. "_You know it scares me when I get too happy._"

"I've only been trying to fix that for you for years," he cleared his throat, "not that you need fixing."

"_No. You're right," _she admitted without hesitation_, "more fixing than you could ever understand_." Mary took a long draw of air. "_I'm sorry again, for calling you so late._"

"There is no need for apologies, dear friend. I am more than obliged to keep you company if you need it," he replied through a yawn. "I do very much enjoy our chats."

Marshall got to his feet, pressing his toes against the tile floor. He rubbed his eyes, freeing the corners of them from crust, he wouldn't sleep again tonight.

"_Spare me the friendly sweet nothings, Marshall,_" she spat carelessly. Her venom was lacking its acidity, and she didn't attempt to reconcile the difference.

"As you wish- heh, my compliance at your command, what else is new?" Marshall kidded, "you have me trained."

"_What good would you be any other way?"_

"I'm plenty good at being spontaneous, you should let me try it sometime," this obviously sounded like an invitation, which he hadn't consciously intended.

"_How about when hell freezes over?_" Mary joked, grunting as she must have been adjusting herself wherever she was sitting. She had been doing that a lot. Making those sounds of discomfort into the earpiece, and Marshall couldn't pinpoint the last time he had heard her doing such a thing.

"At least you've given me a time frame. I appreciate that," he said in retort to let her know, as always, he hadn't taken her seriously.

"_Well, I aim to please,_" she said.

There was this acclimating silence, where they took a few moments to collect themselves, wanting less and less that everything they say be a double entendre. She sighed into the phone, an apprehensive appeal taking over her tone, "_Do you like surprises?"_

In the long time they'd known each other, it seemed Marshall knew everything Mary disliked, in actuality; all that he had to memorize was what she _did _like. The list was much shorter, and Mary had no qualms about speaking her mind. Chances were, if she didn't find someone, or something pleasing, she'd have no trouble exposing such a fact. It made everything easier in the long run; he would know the second she decided to dislike anything, or, anybody. It had happened with Abigail. No matter how many times she cracked something snide, Mary would claim, and reassure she didn't mind the woman, Marshall could never believe her.

He found, most of the time Mary's mistrust in the world was off-putting, but other times, when he was spun through the ringer for having been forgiving of the past, or anticipatory of the future, that her way of mistrusting the world had a way of shaking out. Occasionally, this thing he had scolded her over millions of times before would assist her in being right about something, and he'd have to munch on some crow.

He had nearly forgotten the question as his tired mind rolled over and over. He had always known_ she_ wasn't one for surprises, she had never been aware of his aversion for the concept, though, "No, I do not. As you do, I very much need control," Marshall stated honestly.

"_Believe me. I don't have control. I haven't ever had control. Now, is no different. I just feel… overwhelmed, spinning, lonely, a little confused…"_

Marshall was wondering what could have gotten into her. He was appalled by the sudden openness of this usually encased, secretive human being. One to spew forth her fears- she was not. He pressed his palm to his head, forcing his foggy mind to make touch of it, and form an appropriate reply. They exchanged breath sounds back and forth for a short amount of time, and then he strung some words together to fill the apprehensive void left between them, "There are times in everyone's life, later, and earlier, that we feel a little high-strung, perhaps somewhat lacking of control. It is in any adult's nature to want this feeling - so unpleasant to the majority of us who enjoy life when it is more manageable- to cease, and for that impotent helplessness to halt." He was out of breath, still unable to grasp the idea that Mary had opened up so far for him. Marshall Mann had potentially blown it, this was a window which she had never given him, and he had absolutely discombobulated any sense that was left of the entire conversation.

"_So, what you're saying is feeling crazy... is totally normal?_" she sighed terribly into the phone, and he even had to pull his device from his head, because it was so loud. "_Marshall…"_

He was ready for whatever she had to say, ready for any of her cunning or snide comments, a wisecrack about how it was him going through a mid-life crisis, not she, and how he could enjoy the depression merry-go-round without her. Marshall was bracing himself, only to get words that unsettled him. "_I don't… Marshall, I have to tell you something," _a dry gulp, an awful heave, and a chirping silence. The line crackled, and he was sure she had dropped her blackberry. He was positive the mechanism had crashed to her floor, busted into thousands of pieces, and that he would never hear from her again. There was a flitting in his chest, a scary one, one foolish, one he shouldn't feel at all.

"Mary?" he wondered. "Mary, are you there?"

"_Yeah. Yeah I'm here. I just… you know, doofus…" _her voice broke, _"it can wait,_" she finished abruptly. "_I should really get to bed myself. I'm not hoping for a long day tomorrow, but it will probably be one."_

"Well, I—

"_Good night, Marshall!_"

He was left hanging, confused, tired, wondering where the hell he had gone wrong in that chat that had her hanging up so quickly. Marshall chucked his phone onto the couch, and found himself rummaging through his nearly empty refrigerator. The shelves were bare, there were bananas, surprisingly not molding, in the bottom left hand drawer. He grabbed one, unwrapping it, and throwing the peel in the trash. With his heel, he shut the cooler door, and munched on his piece of fruit. He turned over the exchange over and over in his head.

Mary had been causing his uneasy suspicions to heighten for weeks, but perhaps he was just being a little paranoid. It was obviously just his heart playing a cruel joke, making everything seem more debatable, a way to make himself suffer for the rest of his time alone. No Mary, at least not his Mary. This Mary was finicky, completely unorthodox, but mostly unnerving. He had no wife. Really, he hadn't ever really had a wife. That was no marriage. It wasn't love when he'd overhear those sweet nothings not meant for his ears. It wasn't a bond when only after a few short months, what had felt so right before, turned into something so very wrong. He had no one, not until Mary started coming around again, shortly after he and Abigail had separated. Marshall supposed he didn't deserve her attention after all had been said and done. It seemed she was the only one; his parents were somewhat unforgiving of the way his marriage had failed. Through the guilt, he found just a twinge of joy when she showed up at his door, Norah on her hip, the little one mumbling up a storm, only a few words audible to him.

It was an evening filled with short, sporadic discussions about WITSEC, none of which Norah would be able to comprehend for years, and a finale that made his heart both burst with joy, and splinter with achiness. Norah, although only having seen him a few times in that last year, insisted before she departed with her mother, that she give him a kiss. She pecked him sloppily on his cheek, giggling with a special kind of glee. Mary had only smirked, letting out a miniscule laugh through her nose, and then, left with her rosy cheeked, brown eyed, blonde little girl.

He recalled not having slept that night, not even a wink. Everything was still so new. This lonesomeness he felt was so overpowering, and even debilitating to his usually unbreakable character. Marshall Mann prayed for the past to come back around in his favor, for anything just to fix him, and to barricade this sadness back into his depths for another day. That moment came days afterward, an exhilarating, refreshing experience for him to file away to recollect at his own will. But, will was rapidly switched to his mere compulsion, for now there was no Mary Shannon to gaze upon just a hop, skip, and jump away.

This was beginning to feel like hell.

It's so easy to admit to yourself your desires, and it's terrifying to admit them to anyone else. He wished he didn't know better. He wished he had that irresponsible attitude, and that he had that impossibly restrained way of telling her what had crossed his mind so many times.

He stilled pondered what she could possibly be concealing from his knowledge. Why the sneakiness in communication? Why was she so obviously lying to him?

Most of all, why could he not figure this out? What was so difficult to read of this woman?

It had to be the mystery that kept his heart beating erratically for her. It couldn't be anything else. She surely would never be more than his best friend, and he wasn't even sure if, given that chance to be more, either of them would even attempt it. They had already endangered their relationship before. They had to be more careful than they had been. They had no space to slip, no room to make a misstep. They were barely hanging onto this friendship this long distance away- they needn't anything else to strain it.

It had happened eighteen weeks ago with Mary, fulfilling as it was, it was long gone.

It didn't matter, he thought. There was nothing going on in New York. She was just off in her usual slyness, adversely affected by the pollutants, or homesickness. He had to trust Mary. He _did _trust Mary. He didn't need to convince himself that. Then, why was the anxiousness pounding away through his bloodstream? Why did he think there was something she was hiding?

In these moments, he let that night take over his mind, he let the fear bubble within his chest, and he tried to make his undeserving guilt dissipate. He warmed himself up, and needed something to cool himself down.

He had been divorced a week before their fling, but it was still so surreal.

_**Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! Please REVIEW and tell me what YOU think!**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Do you hate me yet? I have never dragged along this much before, but don't worry. It's coming. Oh, it's coming… **_

_**Thanks to everyone who has been reading, those wonderful reviews make staying up until the wee hours of the morning rather bearable! Please enjoy!**_

_**Oh snap. Abigail has arrived.**_

It had been 20 weeks.

"_Marshall, have you ever had a really big secret?" _The syllables were airy from her lips, soaked with hidden notions, seeping into his ear drums uneasily.

He was frozen in fear for a few seconds, thinking back hard to make sure he was certain, and then with a deep breath, wavered in his reply, "Yes. I have." Marshall gulped, taking in his own bedroom; his phone was pressed to his face, "What secret are you hiding, Mary?" he wondered, sliding deeper into the throw blanket on his bed.

A silence. Scary in every way, evading his soul, making him hurt from the inside out. For a moment, he was trying to convince himself he didn't want to know. But, really, if it had to do with Mary, it wasn't really a conscious choice. He _needed _to know.

"_I have a lot of them,_" she yawned it was, long, and sympathy evoking. She scoffed, "_some of them are bigger than others, some of them would hurt me, and everyone around me._" She waited to make sure he had nothing to say. "_The last thing I need is to lose anyone else, Marshall… You included._" There was a choke, one he had heard only a few times before, on very rare occasions. She was about to cry.

"Mary. You have me. I may have been gone for a little while, but I am here now. That may mean very little, it may even mean nothing at all," he sighed sadly. "I have secrets like that as well. And I have the same fear- that I will lose _you_."

She seemed to really take that in. It evanesced in the open space from Albuquerque to New York City, and then it settled, "_Keep your panties on there, sister,_ _I'm not going anywhere- at least only if you don't want me to._" Mary took time, and shifted the conversation, _"As soon as I get home, my ass is staying parked in New Mexico for the rest of time._"

He laughed, realizing this was her way of finishing the seriousness, the achiness disappeared from him, and he was able to enjoy the rest of their banter, chatting along happily. As soon as the phone was hung up though, it all came back, and it wasn't because of their goodbye, but because of the person on the other side of his door, knocking, calling, and waiting. Marshall could hear the clicking of her shoe hitting his doorstep, her impatience festered outside, and he would soon have no energy to ignore it anymore, because it used to be _their_ doorstep.

It was with much strife that he got to his feet. Marshall's heart pounded wildly in his chest, and he could feel his stomach churning in frustration… and fear. A strange fear. The kind that made him crazy, the kind that made him severely conscious of the fact that Mary's name filled his outbox, inbox, and all of his recent calls on his iPhone. He was strangely aware, that he had deleted Abigail's number as a means to wipe his slate clean, even though he knew it by heart. And he was angry at the same time, for all of those things, but mostly because the red-head stood where they once called both of theirs, a place where they used to dwell together, and she stood there, after everything that had happened. After those nights where she ran off with the temp, after those nights, where she argued with him about petty things, where she told him he couldn't have Mary too.

Mostly he was just tired.

When the door swung open, a swaying, a nearly obliterated Abigail is not what he expected to come upon. She slurred, and blinked, and stumbled.

"You're drunk, Abigail. Why aren't you home?" he asked grinding his teeth.

"I am home," she stated, shoving him aside, "No matter what you say, this is my home."

"We are divorced," the words came sliding from his mouth, as if he had said it a million times before, but in actuality it was only the first time. It had been the right thing to do.

"Yeah, Cowboy, and that was a decision only on your part. You wanted the split," she stopped, leaning in the doorway, hiccupping, and then, "we could have worked things out."

"We really couldn't have, Abs," he sighed, "Not really."

"See Marsh. You don't know that! We didn't even try," she bobbed her head drunkenly; "We didn't even talk!"

He rolled his eyes, narrowed his eyes, and grabbed her wrist, "Get in here, you're letting the cool air in!" Marshall pulled her next to him and shut the door. He heard his phone vibrating, and flushed a deep shade of red. Abigail advanced further in, tripping, but catching herself.

"Who is texting you so late at night?"

"Mary," he said boldly. "Mary is texting me." He shoved his hands in his pockets, satisfied, uncharacteristically pleased at rubbing salt in her wounds.

She turned, her expression grew dark, her eyes glowed in wasted lividness, but she didn't say a word. Her lips were pursed, "Are you two t-together?"

Marshall had to stop himself from recoiling in hurt. "No." Then, he could feel Mary again- her hands, her lips, on his chest, his cheek, his own lips. He could feel her in his hands, her curves, her breasts, and his heart began to pump. Pump, pump, pump, and his ears were filled with pent up lust, and Abigail had only been coming closer.

Marshall should have shoved her away, let the rage render him unforgiving, but for a moment, the whisky on her breath wasn't even enough to make him move away, instead, she was in his arms, but lanky, uncomfortable. She didn't fit.

It was a second, one second that he tasted the stinging alcohol on his own tongue, and felt the stringy red strands of her hair. He already knew it was a mistake. Her fingers slid underneath his shirt, and that was when he finally realized what he was doing. Marshall grabbed her shoulders, and pushed her away, keeping her at arm's length, "No," he breathed. "No."

"Well, this is embarrassing," she scratched her arm, sweaty, because it was covered by her work jacket. Her badge gleamed, and Marshall grabbed his phone, scanning through the text message.

_Stubbed my toe on the goddamn dresser, and now it won't stop bleeding. Do you have any advice, Doctor Marshall?_

Abigail had her mouth open, "Did you just—what are you doing? Did you just stop to check your phone? What are you gonna do?! Text your girlfriend, Mary?!" she spat, falling onto the arm of the couch.

"I'm calling you a cab," he stated sadly. "You're right. This is embarrassing- for both of us," he clicked through a Google search, and tapped the number to an Albuquerque cab service. "We're two adults, steady into careers in law enforcement. You should know better than to sip whisky when you're badge is hanging out in the open…. And I should know better than to take advantage of a tipsy woman at my doorstep," he put the phone up to his ear.

A glossy look came to her eyes, and she shuddered, "You really don't love me anymore?"

It sounded childish to him. He had never thought you could love someone, and then fall out of love. He always thought you always loved someone. But, tonight, he hadn't felt that burning for her; he hadn't felt the surge of frustration he used to when they weren't touching. He felt more disgusted than anything. At her. At himself. At what his life was right now.

He glanced to her, sadly, after the call.

"Be honest, Marshall. You really don't love me anymore?"

Again, it sounded forced, pathetic. It wasn't right.

"Not as much I used to Abs," he said hesitantly. "We hurt each other," Marshall quivered. "Not to sound dramatic, but I could really never feel the same way again."

"But you'll always feel the same way about Mary?" she mumbled.

"Your cab is here," Marshall said forcefully. "I'll walk you out."

"No. Don't. This was umm- very sobering," She rubbed her forehead. "You just get back to Mary. I bet it's super important," Abigail responded, teary eyed, and fumbling.

"She stubbed her toe. It can wait," he answered honestly, trying to do the gentlemanly thing.

"Wow. Because that's not frivolous or anything," she said bitterly, clutching the front doorknob, "It's rare that I remember a moment where you didn't dump me for Mary. But, those were good times."

"Right," he whispered, opening the door. "Well, it's time to go. If you ever need anything…"

She shook her head, "No... I think we've established that there is no 'us' any more. At all," Abigail wiped her brow with her sleeve, "Thanks for the cab, Marshall."

He watched her then, that crisp, but currently wobbly walk he used to ooze over, as she made her way down the cement. Marshall wanted to shout for her, _Come Back. Come back. _But, he knew if he did he'd only regret it. He knew if he did, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. His sadness triumphed over him again, and he felt a stinging in his eyes. He shut the door, sighing in a slight heartache no longer as severe as it once was.

In his hand, the phone rumbled.

Mary: _Did you fall asleep again doof for brains?_

The Chief chewed on his lip for a moment, and then clicked to reply.

-_No. I promised you I wouldn't fall asleep on you again. Stubbed your toe? Elevate it, if it swells, use ice.-_

Mary: _I was actually hoping youd tell me s.t. I havent already done. Jinx has it wrapped in a towel. Is that good?_

-_Yes. I would say she's on the right track.-_

Mary: _K. Norah has been staring at it, its kinda freaking me out._

-_Kids often board the curiosity train at her age. She means no harm. It's simply a checkpoint in her childhood. Be thankful she hasn't started asking billions of questions, or figured out how to dial the phone.-_

Mary: _Yeah, well, she hasn't had time to figure out the blackberry, but the questions are coming in hefty piles. any advice?_

-_Be patient. You know Norah better than anyone else. If you think she really needs to know something, tell her._

Mary: _I think we both know I suck at the whole patience bit._

-_Yes, Mary, but I also know that for Norah you will do anything. As would any other adult in her life, myself included. I miss you two, I wish I could be there, even if it means just putting a band-aid on your toe, or answering some of Norah's multiple questions.  
_He realized after sending that message what it might imply and his heart took its chance to skip a much needed beat. He was tired, and his filter wasn't on. Marshall wasn't at all surprised when she didn't answer. He knew it wouldn't take much for her to fall back into that hole, so deep she couldn't get out, and so dark not a soul could find her. Even he had a terrible time shedding light in that distant land. If only his determination wasn't as downgraded by the minor setbacks such as her choking on his affection, not responding, and completely ignoring him for a week, but really, what else did he expect?

It had been twenty weeks ago with Mary. As fulfilling as it was it was long gone, and Abigail coming back hadn't helped any. He wished he still hadn't felt like he had so much to hide. He and Abigail had been officially divorced a week before their fling anyway.

_**What did you think? Please review and tell me your thoughts!**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Hey! I have a surprise! This is the last chapter until what you have all been waiting for! I would like to thank BravoExpressions for her catch up reviews, and also apologize to her for being a less than stellar reader and reviewer as of late- I owe you a few reviews!**_

_**Thanks to everyone, you're all really great! Please enjoy this chapter!**_

It had been 21 weeks.

Marshall was clipped in his thigh by a stray bullet meant for their witness's heart, but other than the gauze wrapped around his leg making circulation to his toes rather difficult, all was fine. Delia had been relocating a witness, and shots were fired from a building across the street. How they had followed their issued vehicle, he was still trying to get to the bottom of, but to WITSEC's dismay, it had been all over the news. Of course both of their identities had been withheld, but still, bad press was bad press, and it was certainly causing commotion. There had been a program wide e-mail sent, and Marshall had received a phone call from the deputy director within moments of its completion. He hadn't had much to say about the business of it all at first, mostly Deputy Director McQueen needed to know the state his former Inspector and successor was in, and was pleased to find only the minor had occurred. Unfortunately, there were the technicalities to pursue as well, and Marshall was well aware Stan the Man hadn't wanted to do the scolding.

Marshall had never been one to like to be swooned over, called a hero, especially when all he really did was shove a forty year old man, and one of his already injured inspectors to the pavement, behind a car, and take a poorly aimed hunk of lead in his left leg. He just hadn't been in one of those situations in years, perhaps not since that day Norah was born, and was regrettably a little rusty with precautions regarding his own safety. Luckily, it hadn't been serious, and he would be standing on his own two feet again in a little less than two weeks. Delia would probably have to be prescribed more pain medication, and he'd lose all of her swift motor skills for a short while as well. It was looking to be really bumpy in the next few days, and Mary still hadn't recovered from Marshall's faulty judgment from last week, so not a word had been exchanged between them; even Lance Carter was quiet as of late.

When the Chief had slowly slipped on a pair of sweat pants, still sporting the hospital gown on his top half, he nearly jumped from his skin at the sound of his iPhone hollering its usual loud, "incoming call" jingle. The idea that the press somehow found him out was a thought looming in his already thoroughly preoccupied brain, and he held his breath until he had hopped close enough to his cellular device to see the caller I.D. It wasn't the press.

It was Mary- a possibly much more intimidating name to be coming to life upon his touch screen. He tried not to seem anxious, excited as he grabbed the phone with his full grasp, and shakily hit the "answer" button.

"Hello?" his voice rocked, back and forth, and she seemed to notice.

"_Marshall?! Y-you okay?! You're fine?! Right? It's all over the news, I keep getting notifications!"_

"Yes, Mary. It's just a flesh wound. Don't hop a plane to Albuquerque," he said lightly. "Just some nonsense. It shouldn't have happened. It probably wouldn't have if you were here."

"_I probably wouldn't be out in the field anyway…_." Mary said less panicked, and airily, "_So you're fine?"_

"Why wouldn't you be out in the field?" Marshall stopped.

"_It was Delia's witness, wasn't it? I never back Delia up when she transporting a witness_."

"Yes you do," he replied confused. "Always."

"_Marshall, you didn't answer me! Everything is fine? I don't have to confess shit to you because you're dying?_"

"No," he said flatly. "I already told you, it's just a flesh wound, four stitches."

"_It still hurts like a bitch, doesn't it_?"

"Yes. Very much so," he yawned, still suppressing his urge to ask her over and over. Why wouldn't she be in the field? "But, that doesn't mean this isn't a good time to make confessions."

"_I have nothing to confess_."

"Are you sure?"

"_I didn't call for you to give me the third degree. If you're leg's still there, and you're not a soon to be amputee, then I can hang up_!"

Marshall rolled his eyes. "If that's what you feel would be the correct action, you do so."

"_Jeez, Marshall, you know I don't want to, but you also know I hate it when you ask a bunch of questions, so really, it's your deal. Am I hanging up?!_" she asked wildly.

It felt like she was asking him so much more, it made him uncomfortable. "I want you to stay on the phone," he admitted sitting on the bed, and lying back. "I—I really want you to talk to me." It really felt pathetic, and her pause at the other end made him extremely anxious. "Please. Talk to me."

"_What could we talk about_?" she wondered in a whisper, "_I mean, what haven't we already said?_"

"I haven't said a lot of things," Marshall replied. "And, I'm sure you have plenty to say. How is your anemia?"

"_It hasn't changed. Why do you have to ask me every time I call you?! I'm a big girl, Marshall. I can take care of myself. I'm not inept! Chill out!_"

"I think you're the one that needs to take a step back. Don't get defensive just because I care about you," he responded calmly. And he did care. That's why he asked so many questions.

"_It's just sometimes I feel like you don't trust me unless you have your eye on me twenty-four seven. Just because Detective Barbie screwed you over right in front of your face doesn't mean I will hurt you like that when I'm not there!_" She breathed heavily into the phone, but even as her breath filled the ear piece steadily more and more, he still couldn't find the words to speak.

"_Marshall? I-I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me_."

"I— but still, he couldn't form words. None.

"_It's just been really difficult. Being so far away… from everything, my house, I miss my own bed. I miss my sister. Can you believe that? I miss Brandi. That's how bad off I am here. I miss my sister, and my blatting niece. Jinx has been spending so much time with Norah; she goes to her instead of me when she gets scared during one of these stupid thunderstorms they have in this God Forsaken City._"

Marshall knew she wasn't just making excuses. For one, her voice was breaking, breaking in and out like when you begin to lose the local radio station when you drive out of town. He gulped, pulling his hair off of his forehead, "All is forgiven. I don't necessarily have a lengthy contact list, Mary. You're pretty much… well, you're it. If I'm mad at you, I'm mad at all of my friends."

There was a broken chuckle, "_Diddo_."

He could feel her eyes fall to her lap, the way they always did when conversation turned serious. Marshall was slow in his full return to the moment, "So, Brandi hasn't been keeping in close enough touch?"

"_There's not much time for her to chat,_" Mary sighed, "_That little rugrat of hers, well she's a handful. Norah stopped being that high maintenance when she learned to walk. But, Brandi's kid… really, that's all I have to say. She's Brandi's kid._"

"Every kid is different. Norah and Beth they're made from different stuff. You each have your own spunk, and you passed it on to your babies. You were very independent, still are, so Norah picked it up. Brandi is… dependent, and therefore, so is Beth," he supplemented.

"_So, you're saying we both screwed them up in different ways_?"

"I would say 'screw up' is a very strong summation on your part. Norah is perfect. We've been over this. Beth is too, in her own light." He hoped if this back and forth trailed on to be any more personal, he could blame it on the pain medications- even though he hadn't been given any.

"_I know. She is. I make good people_," she joked.

"You most definitely did a superb job cooking that little miss."

"_Don't call her 'little miss,' and absolutely don't make me out to be a human easy bake oven_," Mary scolded. "_When you grow a uterus, and you get yourself knocked up, then we can talk_."

He laughed, "Yeah? Is that a promise?"

"_It's a threat. Forget everything you've seen. It's not rainbows and unicorns for nine months. It's some serious change…. horrible, and sweaty change_," she added.

"I was there, remember?" Marshall mused with a growing smirk, feeling mischievous, and as if he was doing some serious blackmailing.

"_All too well, Marshall. All too well_."

Marshall lay back a little more comfortably, getting enjoyment out of the memories rolling through his mind- Mary lounging in her office chair, belly up, complaints coming in mounds from her mouth, Mary scarfing down cholesterol packed foods, not a single vegetable for thirty-two weeks, unless it was fried, Mary waddling off, from the car to every gas station restroom they passed. Mary's personality didn't mesh well with pregnancy. Marshall knew _this _all too well, but still very much found that tickle from those few years ago.

He sat up. "I have to get home, Mare. Can I call you when I get there?"

"_Oh- y-yeah,_" she tried to reply without disappointment riddling her tone. "_I might have to go back to the training area in a few. If I don't answer, it's not that I'm ignoring you, I just may be back at my shitty job,_" she mused.

"Oh? Where are you now?"

"_On my off-time I just hang out in the middle stall in the bathroom, saves them desk space—I'm in their guest office, douche! Go on Hop-Along, get yourself home, and call me when you can_," she ordered.

"Aye-Aye Inspector!" he played in a faux underling inflection.

When he heard the line fall silent, he tossed his phone into his bag, slipped on a shirt, and slung his duffle over his shoulder. With a pair of crutches they had given him for only the next few days, in order not to pop his few stitches, he made his way out of the room at a snail's pace, nodding to the nurses, and debating as to whether or not he should head to the office instead. He shook his head, realizing he was just a tad exhausted, and set his sights on being in his own abode.

The Albuquerque sun hit him at the top of his head; his leg throbbed at the swaying motion that occurred whilst he hobbled toward his vehicle, which Delia -even though he had dismissed her for the day to get her bearings- had dropped off. The witness had been transported during a messy debacle with D.C. and he was being sent, even further from his home, to New York City. He hoped Mary didn't get a hold of him, but she wouldn't even know who he was, unless she was clever enough to put the shreds together. Marshall had sent him off at the train station a few hours ago, before his visit to the E.R. hopeful that the bleeding would cease, and he would just need to throw away this particular suit. The jacket had been utilized as a tourniquet so Marshall wouldn't be gushing blood on the platform, and scaring the other potential passengers wanting to climb aboard.

What a day this had been. He just wanted it to be done, he wanted to go home, have a little chat with Mary, miss her some more, and fall asleep. He would wake up the next day, content, and unfazed by a single sketchy detail as he always did the day after a sticky situation.

It was only once that his demeanor hadn't shifted to this, post-WITSEC Disaster, and that had been when Mary had been shot. There was no coming back from that, no not remembering, no taking a few minutes to compose himself. It was all very real, every time he remembered it, and that, he couldn't help.

It felt like a long way home, even though it wasn't. His leg cramped every now and then, and getting out of the car had been a hassle. His crutches were flung to the ground, his bottom planted itself in the chair, and he groped for his phone in the bag on his lap. When he had it in his fingers, he clicked rocket redial, because, as always, she had been the last one he had called.

"_Hey doofus," _she answered, chewing noisily into the phone.

"Hello there, Mare. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" he wondered nonchalantly.

"_I wouldn't have answered the phone if you were. You know me better than that,_" she laughed. "_I have no problem ignoring you._"

"That's a comforting thought," he smiled. "I-I never liked missing your phone calls."  
He heard something crinkle, and a sniff.

"_I bet Abigail jumped for joy every time you did, though_," Mary said sadly.

"I will admit, I made mistakes, Mary. But, I- love… our friendship. And you didn't stop being my best friend, even if you wanted to be," Marshall replied instantly.

"_We don't… need to talk about this…" _she responded with a sharp exhale._ "Not right now …Jesus…"_ she groaned.

Marshall furrowed his brow, "Are you alright?"

"_Y-yeah. I'm fine_," she said uncertainly. "_Just a cramp, or something… You know, Marshall- I have to go._"

He held the phone. "Mary, tell me you're okay first!"

The line was dead; he was left hanging, disturbed, and a little confused. Marshall grabbed his crutches, and took his keys. He was going to the WITSEC Office. He had more pull there, if something was happening with Mary, Lance Carter would know in a few seconds flat, especially if she had been in the training office when it happened. He held his breath. What could be going on with his Mary?

His mind was in a panic, and he felt every emotion all at once. There may be more to this whole thing than he thought, but he couldn't afford to lose another day in the office, so he was fighting off the urge to hop a plane to New York City. He didn't want to lose this mental war with himself, but he just felt all of this getting heavier and heavier on his shoulders.

This was killing him. Marshall wanted her back in Albuquerque, where he could keep an eye on her, and whatever she had hiding up her sleeve.

It had happened 21 weeks ago with Mary, as fulfilling as it was it was long gone, but the space that was between them from New Mexico to New York was growing rapidly, eating away at him. Thoughts of Abigail were becoming few and far between, and only avid reminders had him falling back to their divorce. Time was passing, faster and faster, and he found that only Mary was the reason it was going by so quickly. He needed her, nothing mattered anymore, their fling had happened a week after his divorce from Abigail anyway, and it was time to face the facts.

_**Uh-oh. What happened with Mary? Review and tell me what you think!**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: Okay, this is what you've been waiting for, so I'll keep this short. That was some stellar reviewing last chapter!**_

It had been 22 weeks.

"It's been a week, Chief. Are you really sayin' Carter wouldn't disclose anything about Mary? Aren't you entitled, because she's your Inspector?" Delia wondered with her eyebrow raised. "What's the protocol, does NYC get to keep her even though she's sick?"

Marshall shook his head, his eyes were glossy, his chin rested on his palm, he was looking haggard, and angry. He was perched at Mary's desk, staring at the picture of Norah, and that giant birthday cake Mary had been so proud of. Delia knew he was sulking, he had been stuck on Mary's office chair for a week, but things were coming down on him much harder right now- so she was only trying to help. "They can't disclose any of her medical information. Carter told me it was treatable, and that Mary chose to stay in New York to finish the job. I want to get her home, Delia, but I don't want to go against her, and have her be angry at me when she gets back."

Delia contemplated it all for a moment, and was obviously a little suspicious, "Listen, Chief," she leaned closer, rolling toward him. "Mary hasn't been well since she set foot in that place, and I think she would be truly thankful if you replaced her. I'll go. I will get on a plane today, if it means her and Norah get to come back to Albuquerque. Tag me in, Sir!"

He smirked tiredly, "That's very generous of you, and thanks for the enthusiasm, but you know Mary would kill me."

"Marshall, she hasn't ever had a cold, yet alone, been brought to hospital- once Chief, when she had Norah, but that's the last time our Mary was forced into an ambulance." Delia bartered unknowingly.

"And the time she was shot, but you weren't around when that happened." He seemed to simmer down for a moment to think, but then the oceans in his eyes shot back up to panic, "She hates doctors; I can't imagine how she's faring at all. She doesn't have her phone; Lance said he found it on the ground where she… collapsed." Marshall ran his fingers through his hair. "Jinx hasn't called. I'm always Jinx's first call when something goes on with Mary!"

Delia narrowed her eyes. "There's something fishy going on down in New York. Someone better figure it out quick, before Mary comes back and makes us all fall over with shock. She's probably rail thin, you don't think it's serious, do ya?"

Now, she was making this worse, but Marshall didn't notice. He was already worked up, what did it matter if he was a little more? "I need to get down there. I need to go!" His mind was swimming, he was willing to let ABQ WITSEC crumble if he could get to her in the next twenty-four hours. Then again, at the same time, he couldn't- he wouldn't. He loved this place just as much as Mary did, and it would drive her insane if she was the cause for any messes here in New Mexico- it was just how Mary was.

"Chief, that isn't going to solve anything," Delia reasoned politely. "You know what will happen if you go down there? She'll get downright furious, and she won't talk to you. You let her come back when she's ready- let her come back on her _own_ terms," Delia assured, getting to her feet to touch his shoulder.

"Yes, but I sent her there! I sent her there, and now everything is falling apart!" he stated angrily, and rather nonsensically, because as far as Delia knew, nothing had fallen, or broken.

"Let's calm down. Everything is _not _falling apart. Mary's sick. It's no big deal."

"But, she isn't_ calling_ me! She isn't telling me what's happening!" Marshall stood, and Delia's hand fell away. He took a few steps without his crutches, because the stitches had been falling out themselves, and he had no desire to traipse back into that hospital for them to poke with some tweezers for a few seconds.

"There are two and a half months left of her stint as training officer. I think you can wait." The lady said calmly, taking her seat once more, clearly unfazed by the way Marshall was acting.

He took a deep breath, and was suddenly thankful the office was empty. It was really late, and he had been on the phone almost all day arguing with medical clerks, secretaries, and of course Lance Carter. Everyone had left, and it was only he and Delia, and he had been going a little crazy, being a little neurotic. Maybe he was overreacting, but if he was honest, he felt he wasn't. He was the one who sent her to do that training bit, maybe he just had to suck it up, and let her take care of herself, although, apparently, she was doing an awful job of it.

"If it was serious, there would be more humbug about it, right?" he directed to Delia, even though he was pacing now, ignoring the soreness in his leg which he hadn't been using all week. His body part was in shock because of all the motion. Back and forth he went between the desks, wanting to disappear. He wanted to be anywhere but here, he didn't know where he'd rather be- wait, he did. He wanted to be with Mary. Marshall wanted to know exactly what was happening, he wanted to be right there when the doctors diagnosed her, he wanted to be the one to pick up medication or prepare her dinner, or play with Norah, or help Mary rest, and even talk to Jinx. He would do anything if it meant being close to her, he would do anything if it meant being there for Norah when Mary couldn't suffice, he would do anything to be shivering in that apartment with he wanted for family. He wanted everything with her, but he knew he couldn't have it.

"Of course, Chief. I'm sure her Ma would have been on the phone in three seconds flat," Delia smiled weakly, still attempting to console the panicking Marshal.

"Yes, I'm sure you're right," he mumbled, hand covering his mouth in contemplation.

As if on cue, he glanced to his phone as it began to jingle.

"That's Mary," Delia said hazily, looking to Marshall for his move.

It was difficult to maintain composure, so when he felt the phone in his grasp it was only natural he dropped it. He reached for it on the tile flooring, clawing the ground, searching for a sturdy grip, "Mary?" he responded to the ringing foolishly.

"_Yeah?_"

"Carter told me you collapsed, is everything still well up there? I would like a full explanation, and for you to not skate around a single detail!" he ordered brusquely.

"_I'm sorry, but when it comes to my health, that's one thing you can't demand out of me, Chief!_"

He swallowed hard at her formal address, the stinging reference to his harrowing career made him feel a little more inclined to really start barking, but he didn't. "I want you back here in Albuquerque. I'm sending Delia," he stated, out of breath from maintaining utter ontrol. Delia had stood, and began to gather her things from her desk to bring along, but Marshall settled her down by swatting the air in her direction. She dropped all of her things back to the surface, her bottom hitting her seat with a reassuring 'thud.'

"_No way! You sent me here, I'm going to finish the job- if it kills me!" _she screeched emphatically.

"What's even the matter, Mary? You complain about not being home, and then you won't return when I ask you to?!" He was becoming a little angry now, still particularly upset by their contactless week, when really, it was the only time in the world he actually _needed _it, rather than just thinking he did.

"_It was a tiny bout of high blood pressure!_ _Nothing you should be getting this riled up over, Marshall! Buzz off!_"

He scratched his head, lowering his voice considerably, "High blood pressure? Anemia? Mary wha- do you have something to tell me?" Marshall planted his feet s solidly as he could on the floor.

Her voice quaked, "_No. What would I have to tell you? It was a four hour flight, and then absolute whiplash to my body. The doctors can't explain specifically why it's happening, either."_

"But, it's been nearly five and a half months," he muttered. "How could it all just be going wonky now?"

"_Don't say 'wonky_,'" she sighed. "_Just don't say… anything else_."

"Mary, I think we really need to talk," he grimaced, realizing Delia was hanging onto his every word, even more so than Mary, he limped into his office. Quietly, he shut the door.

"_Yeah, you've been saying that a lot lately._" She moved around a bit, rustling toward the ear piece, and settled down again, "_I guess I have no choice, but to listen then._"

"And I would appreciate it, if you didn't get scared, and hang up," he heard a beep, steady now; she was still in the hospital. He gulped, leaning against the blinds of his office window. "I didn't send you there to get rid of you," Marshall breathed slowly, "I sent you there, because I had no other choice. Mary, I wanted you to stay. I wanted you to stay, because at this point, I have no other choice but to-

"_Marshall, please_…" she tried to interject, but he wouldn't have it.

"No. Let me finish. I have no other choice but to tell you, that you are… my sanctuary. Because you're gone, I've had a horrible time. Whenever you're not around, I'm not happy. I feel…. Miserable," He completed with precision, because that was the most definite adjective that explained him right now. "There, I said it. I am a wreck without you, Mary."

She was silent. The shrill beeps had become even more so, and they were quicker, jumpier. "_Wow_," she managed to muster. "_I- hang on a second_."

He could tell she was still there. He could hear her, breathing jaggedly into the phone. His heart matched the beeps too. In fact, he had never felt it beat so hard, or so quick in his entire life.

"Thank you, for not hanging up," he choked out.

There was a long pause, deep, riddled with fear. "_So- what does that mean?_"

Marshall shook his head. "Whatever you want it to mean," he replied hesitantly.

"_That time… on the balcony. You were really trying to tell me you loved me, weren't you_?"

"I was getting married I—

"_Answer the question, Marshall. Were you trying to tell me you loved me?_" Now her voice was low, un-Mary like. It struck him substantially.

"Yes, Mary. And I was trying to tell you, I loved you more," he whispered.

"_I-I can't_-

"You can't, what?!" he questioned behind a tight jaw, sputtering on his every possible word.

"_I can't give you what she can_."

"I don't want what she can give me," he admitted. "That's precisely why we're not together anymore." Marshall held his breath. He was afraid, what could she possibly say next?

"I'm pregnant," she admitted. "_I'm pregnant, twenty or so weeks along, so you can do the math…_" There was a bout of nervous laughter but, it died, and she awaited his response.

She would be disappointed if she was expecting anything more than the crackle and pop from his end. Marshall had dropped the phone.

Yes. She was. The pieces had fit together so perfectly. It was all simply, ridiculous. He felt sick.

He slid down the door, until his bottom smacked the carpeting of his office. He stared at the wall, churning over and over in his mind the reality that he had just been thrown into. Marshall missed Mary, but now, he was angry. She had known for months, but she hadn't told him.

Marshall just poured his heart out to a woman who had lied to him for weeks. How, how could this be happening?! Pregnant? He was divorced, he was in no relationship, he had no wife. How could all of his dreams fall away to nothing, and then come true again, and it be so bitter when they did? Life was widdling away at his unbreakable façade. He stared at the crack screen of his phone, green, and splintering. He wouldn't be speaking with her any time soon.

He needed a moment. A small moment, but he couldn't bring himself to take it. Mary is pregnant. It didn't even register. Mary is pregnant. Mary is pregnant. Mary is pregnant. Mary is pregnant.

He gulped. Marshall stood, and kicked at his phone with all of his might, snarling, and cussing. The piece of equipment collided with the leg of his desk, and now parts of the screen trailed to its final destination- underneath his workspace, where he was leaving it. He barreled from his office, ripping his WITSEC I.D. from his jacket, and scanned it, without saying a word to the confused Delia, while escaping through the open sliding doors.

Marshall was taking his moment. He needed a drink, a stiff drink, and a noisy bar to drown out his thoughts.

It had been twenty-two weeks ago with Mary, as fulfilling as it was, he never expected this. This?! He thought. He wanted tequila on his tongue and it to burn all the way down. Marshall needed a static mind for only an hour, he needed escape. He needed to leave everything behind for a moment or two. He wasn't worried about Delia or the ABQ WITSEC division, she knew how to run the show. Mary was having a baby, and God willing, he was going to raise it. Maybe the bar was the wrong place to be; maybe it was the airport he was looking for. Maybe, he needed the noisy engine of jet plane busying his soul for a few short hours- a loud jet plane to New York City.

_**Hopefully everyone has calmed themselves down. Now, EVERYTHING is out in the open. **_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Well, I'm back to being behind. This is the last chapter I have written up, and it's SEVEN pages! Woop! Enjoy, my friends! Thanks for the reviews!**_

_**XXX**_

It had been 23 weeks.

It had taken a week for Marshall to prepare for NYC, and that also included getting a new phone. The original product had been in pieces, many of them, and some of the glass still lay imbedded in the WITSEC floor, so it was hard to explain without telling the entire sob story to the Apple Store Manager.

Leaving ABQ WITSEC was harder than he imagined, briefing Delia, setting up his office for her to do paperwork without snickering, giving her a binder of protocols, and assigning a few temporary inspectors for both her and Mary's cases. It was troublesome.

Also, there were no flights out of Albuquerque to New York cheap enough for him to swing. He was, after all, paying for a two bedroom apartment, with an additional half-bath. It was becoming much more difficult for him to keep everything in one piece without another income for the little things like his much needed cellular bill, and internet. It was something tedious, and unnecessary on his mind, but paying over four hundred dollars for a one-way, without room and board, just seemed a little over the limit for him.

He had needed time anyway. He had—had his drinks, sipping for hours. It wouldn't have been fair for him to show up, starry eyed, and bubbling over with things to shout at her, to yell. Marshall was wiggling in his seat, clutching his luggage, which was also his carry on, because he hadn't packed much. He didn't know where he'd end up. He was sure he could bunk in the WITSEC training facility if worse came to worse.

The plane would land in an hour or so, there had been very little turbulence. He would have been enjoying it, if it weren't for the kind of hell he would be facing when he stepped off of this aircraft. Once those tires hit the tarmac, he'd really be in for it. He glanced down at his phone, doing something to keep his eyes busy, because the air hostess had her own glassy, beady pearls digging into the back of his neck. They really didn't like how protective he was over his bag, and they didn't hide their unease well as Marshall immediately noticed after the fourth or fifth time they mentioned the overhead storage to him.

He was sifting through his missed calls. They were all Mary. Thirty-Eight times down the line her name was listed in red. It made his stomach jump into his throat. Mary never made this big of a deal over anything.

Marshall wasn't done being angry with her, though. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever be able to look her in her eyes again. She was a liar to him, right now, and he didn't know if he could ever make that change in his mind. He was afraid he would look at her, and be overcome with so much anguish, and bitterness, he'd burst. He actually didn't want to see her, didn't want to find her, didn't want to subject himself to her heavy hearted saga, and trust issues anymore, because he, Marshall Mann, couldn't stand to even think that his best friend would ever keep a secret so big from him.

She spat on him, she tore him apart. He was beaten. Mary Shannon had put him through the wringer, and there were only shards of him left. Lies. It felt like all lies, and he couldn't feel a nice thing coming out of his mouth when he saw her. He couldn't fathom he'd be able to stand in the same room with her.

His body was perplexed, because for weeks he had been aching for only a quick touch, or tiny waft of her, and now, he felt sick at the mere mention. His heart was swollen with betrayal, but there was this hint of another emotion evading him as well, and he couldn't pinpoint exactly what that was.

Marshall sat motionless for a few seconds trying to realign his center. Mary was pregnant. It was fireworks in his belly, and a new sort of wonder in his mind. The possibilities seemed endless in his thoughts, even though, he was still very angry. It had felt like a few years prior- at the mention of Mary being pregnant, or having a baby, even if it wasn't his, he couldn't help but feel joy in his heart.

_That_ was the hidden emotion.

_Joy._

Underneath all of the hellish, perplexing messages his brain was making clear, there was this undeniable happiness uplifting him in some sort of way. For, even though Mary had been lying to him for months, she was still very much carrying a child- a child that was his, that was both of theirs. It meant they shared something more than just that night. This means they'll share something forever, even to Mary's disdain.

But, hadn't she _tried_ to tell him? All of those times, could he have lent his ear better for her to admit such a stone cold, and heavy thing? He had certainly tried. But, then again, he had also sent her to New York City, and though, he thought she knew it wasn't to get her away from him, it still probably wasn't so obvious to her within those few weeks of her settling in. Marshall knew, once Mary had her mind set on keeping something to herself, he'd probably never break that bond between her and her secret. There were two very big examples of that, that if it weren't for a few out of character Mary Shannon slip ups, Marshall wouldn't have ever found out, and those were of course, James Wily Shannon, and her husband of barely a moment: Mark.

He didn't like to think about those two things as much as Mary didn't. But when Mark was the father of her child, and jealousy lurked in his chest on multiple occasions, he couldn't help to. When James came around, Marshall would have given anything to not have to watch Mary go through what she did, he wished he could have done it for her- all of it, watching James die in his own arms, not hers. Unfortunately, like a lot of things, he wasn't able to.

Marshall braced himself with the arm rest as they landed, closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath. He'd have to rent a car, and if movies weren't misleading him, driving in New York City would be awful.

The airport was dead, which was good for him. He got through quickly, slipping through security, grabbing his things, and then he found the car with the best mileage. Unfortunately, Marshall had never driven in any city bigger than Albuquerque. It was a nightmare.

There were cars upon cars, tractor trailers, bikes, scooters, and pedestrians crossing every cross walk, people running every red light, police doing poor jobs. He gritted his teeth, gripped the steering wheel growling to himself, partially sorry he ever let Mary come here, especially with Norah. He wouldn't want to raise a child here, and he sure as hell didn't want Mary going into labor on a street corner, or in one of these cabs, that was only okay in the cinema, with actors, not reality- Mary needed hospitals, and doctors. Suddenly, he was pissed off again, for a little more than just the horrendous traffic. He was practically nowhere, having no clue which street to turn onto, because his iPhone, even on full volume couldn't compete with the truck driver pulling on the air horn every two and half seconds as if he was the only one in a hurry.

Marshall usually wasn't an impatient person, but he found himself tapping on the dash, running his fingers through his hair, eying nearly every person (who cut in front of him, or walked near the front of his rented civic, or blocked the entire road to parallel park a car with a shitty turning radius), with a dirty look or perceptively angry eyes. He was in no mood to deal with the stupidity of large-city folk, and have Mary on his mind too. He looked around, realizing he had really sent her into the innards of this crazy place, to be eaten alive by the crosswalks, and buses. He rubbed the back of his neck, pushing the voice command button on his phone, "Call Mary," he stated as clearly as he could.

The ringing was louder than the trucks, the horns, the grinding of brakes, groans of the power steering, it seemed to go on forever, until the inevitable, and awful sound of the generic voicemail came on. He didn't think she'd answer, and even if she did, he wouldn't have known what he would say anyway. What could he say? _I'm glad you've been lying to me all of this time, I completely forgive you, let's have a baby together, _seemed slightly pathetic, and falsely quickly forgiving.

He threw the phone to the passenger's seat, unhappy with his chances to beat five o' clock traffic. He was three hours off, and he didn't expect anything to make his brain hurt as much as that last conversation he had with Mary.

_Your destination has been reached. _

Those were the most unforgiving and intimidating words in the entire world. He was thoroughly afraid parking directly behind what he only assumed was a Marshal issued vehicle with the special plates and all. It was too late to go back, he figured. It was too late to forget the whole thing, because if he did, he wouldn't forgive himself. Most importantly, Mary wouldn't forgive him, either, and that, he was sure, he would already have to deal with. It had been a week after all, without a phone, without a check-up call to Lance Carter, without a short text message chat with Jinx, a phone call of just Norah gurgling happily into the phone, as she every now and then spouted phrases that had nothing to do with the cooing on Marshall's end. It had been an entire seven days where he refused to transfer any calls from the WITSEC line from New York. He couldn't bring himself to the level where he trusted his own mouth to keep the peace. He didn't feel confident he would be able to now, either.

There was an intercom system, one he hadn't counted on. He hadn't any idea what he could do now. He wasn't even sure which apartment number Mary was dwelling in. Marshall began scrolling through his e-mails, scanning for the Subject Heading of _**Personnel Housing Confirmation**_. Apartment 128B. How would he get through to Mary via intercom? It seemed all too impossible.

Marshall looked through the directory. There it stood, 128B, the button pink from sun damage, faded from red. He felt his face go cross, his own brow furrow. He bit his lip, working up the little courage he could, filling up his lungs with air; it had been clicked by his own fingertip before he could exhale. There was a buzzing, and it seemed as if it would go on forever.

"Hello?" It was a surprising tone, shrill, piercing to the ear drum. It was Jinx.

Marshall gulped, "Hello there, Jinx. It's Marshall Mann," he stated shakily, button still pressed in, "I was wondering if perhaps you could let me into the building?"

There was this strained silence, mostly shocked. You could hear her breathing. "O- of course, Marshall! Of course, dear! You just come right up!" Jinx always had reminded him of an excited puppy, wiggling, giggling, shaking, and jumping for attention or stuffing her nose into somewhere it didn't belong. It wasn't a very flattering connection, so he had kept it to himself.

There was a tiny weight off of his shoulders as he climbed the stairs, but at the same time he felt guilt shredding through his body, because this place was definitely less than par, and Mary hadn't been honest enough telling him it wasn't a correct fit. Each stair screamed at the weight of each foot, the railing wobbled, and groaned with every grip. He cringed all the way to the fourth floor, having been able to have too much time to think in the elevator, he thought taking the stairs would make it easier on his aching mind. It had just made everything worse, because he was the one who had made her come here. He had kicked her to the city where sirens screeched, and people screamed, and the sounds of beeping were even more frequent than the sounds of voices. He was beginning to hate himself for coming here; he couldn't imagine how Mary felt any more. He didn't know her any more, really. That was the only thing he was sure she could relate to.

His knuckles burned as he slammed them a few times against the door. He could hear shuffling, the sounds of a couple of things being dragged across the floor, an utensil clattering to the counter, but none of it sounded like Mary.

The hinges of the door squeaked unwelcomingly, and Jinx's big, pretentious smile had already spread across her lips. "Come in, dear! Won't you please?" she greeted as if he were going to refuse.

The apartment hadn't been nearly as bad as he had developed in his imagination. The worst of it was a drip from the corner of the living room, where a plant had been placed to catch the excess droplets, most likely this had been a suggestion from Mary Shannon herself. He had been looking around for a substantial amount of time, and Jinx had seemingly begun to notice he was perusing the place, so she'd left him to it.

"How have you been, Marshall?!" she squealed. "It feels like it has been forever!"

He forced a smirk, "Twenty-three weeks since I put you on that plane with Mary and Norah, to be exact." Marshall looked to the worn wood floor, unable to make direct contact with those sparkling brown orbs staring back at him as if this were just a jolly visit. If she had been living with her daughter all this time like she had been, she would know there was more to his appearance that a drop by to say 'howdy.' She had known too, and hadn't made it a point to tell him, not even a hint from the brunette who learned to talk such a good game from her experience with her alcoholism.

"I know! I know! Mary had that silly countdown on the fridge for weeks! She just took it down a few days ago," she blinked, lying horribly, "I'm not really sure why."

Marshall nodded, "Speaking of our Mary, do you happen to know where she is?" he questioned politely, hands in his pockets as he turned his head every which way to make certain she wasn't hiding behind a curtain.

Jinx began scrubbing at the kitchen stove, "Why I do, she told me she was going down the hall to finish up some laundry. She took Norah Bug with her, she should be back anytime now…" the aged woman let out a nervous chuckle. "You can take a seat until she's finished to wait, I'm supposed to take the baby to the park for a smidge of fresh air, so that should leave you and Mary plenty of time to….. discuss…" Jinx ended sweetly, tossing the wash cloth she had been utilizing into the basin of the kitchen sink.

"Very well, then," he replied, sliding from his blazer, and throwing it onto the arm of the couch. There was a distinct scent radiating from this sofa, drawing him nearer. Mary lingered in the cushions, and the pillows, Norah's toys were in a decent sized pile in the corner next to her play pen, and Jinx had taken to rocking back and forth from her toes to her heels. Marshall settled himself comfortably , his heart was racing and Jinx's manic movements made it all the more worse.

"Would you like a water?" she asked politely, "Mary has stocked up on them lately, because… well, doctor's orders," Jinx said hesitantly, guiltily, and then added, "You know, she would bring up to me every day how much she wanted to tell you…"

There it was, he thought. She had attempted to keep her place, but had gone and crossed the line anyway. Marshall felt his eyes go glossy, as he pursed his lips in order not to say a word.

She continued apart from Marshall's sake, "She talked herself out of it every time. No matter what," Jinx's quivered, "I don't know why she'd think you wouldn't come through. I didn't get the fact that my Mary would have any doubts about you, Marshall."

He could.

He knew every reason why she'd doubt him, and it wasn't because of James. It was because of Abigail. He knew that's why she'd mention it every chance the conversation flat lined to seriousness. He had chosen the wrong woman from the get-go, and that's why this had happened. This is why Mary didn't want him to know.

But, even as he took to understanding, he couldn't help but feel so angry still.

"She had an ultrasound yesterday, Marshall."

He found himself chilled with these words, as if it were wrong of him to wonder how it went, as if it were wrong of him to want to see it. "She did? And how did that go?" he rasped, voice breaking.

"It went wonderfully," she responded. "Baby is fine, active too, Mary said they won't stop kicking…."

"Boy or girl?" he asked without realizing, taking a film that Jinx had nearly shove into his grasp.

"Mary doesn't want to find out," she answered flatly, "She said you'd want it that way. She said you'd like that kind of surprise. Now, this was in the beginning, when wasn't nearly as round, dear. I think she had different expectations for how this would all pan out."

There were two arms, ten fingers spread out across their face, feet both in view, eyes closed, snoozing away Marshall would imagine. The legs were crossed though, so even he couldn't make a guess as to which version of Mary they'd be having. He was then, hyper aware of the fact that he would be a dad relatively soon. He was on his feet, maybe even thinking about leaving, when the door opened, Mary with Norah on her hip, and laundry on the other.

"Mary!" he stated startled, and the basket of clothes fell to the floor with a 'whack.'

It had been twenty-three weeks ago with each other. As fulfilling as it was, it was long gone. But, now Marshall could see the evidence of that night plainly and obviously under Mary's shirt. He didn't regret anything he realized, as Norah began fussing to be in his arms instead.

_**XXX**_

_**I hope you enjoyed! Please review and tell me what you think!**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Hope you all like the dramatic side of these two! Ha, where would we be without out over-dramatization! Thanks all so much for the tremendous reviews! Please enjoy!**_

It had been a long 23 weeks.

"M-Marshall?!"

Mary had placed Norah on the floor, and began groping for the shirts, socks, and towels all piled in the doorway. He never expected the little girl to crawl toward him, and tug at his pant leg. There was a lot of gibberish filling what would have been a tense silence, and Marshall was much too exhausted to think straight. He was chuckling, grabbing Norah into his arms, and giving her a big smooch. The little girl slobbered down her chin, having only been one year old for a few months, it still seemed absolutely adorable to him. But, the child's impression of a helicopter was less than exciting to the haggard mom to-be across from him. He shushed her softly, stroking the fine strands of blonde hair atop her head, and subconsciously swaying to keep her tiny mind from spinning with excitement at the new face in her home. He felt the same way she did, the big brown orbs staring up to his overwhelmed expression searched for the reassurance that he wasn't going to disappear again, and never come back.

"Hello, Mary," he coughed, "you're looking—

"Rotund? Round? House-like? Planetary? I've heard 'em all from the creeps in the WITSEC unit down the way, so please, surprise me," she stated somewhat seriously, but awkwardly joking as she watched the sight of him with her kid in his arms, and how naturally comfortable he was with the tiny piece of her in his grasp.

"I have come bearing no tired nicknames related to your size, but rather, you're looking fully- able. Nausea is under control?" he turned to Norah, shocking himself with his ability to baby talk in this intense situation. He poked her chest, and made his voice as silly as he could, putting on a show with his eyebrows as he directed toward the baby, "No more grumblies in Momma's tummblies?"

She giggled from the belly, and her shouts of glee rocketed through the apartment, only to come back with a substantial enough force to cause him to smile to himself. The smirk upon his lips was for the kindly, wonderful demeanor the little tot displayed; her behaviors were so very adverse to her own mother's. Happiness was never Mary's bit, and as he looked upon her today, her hands on her hips, eyes glossy with tiredness, and overexertion, he could have convinced himself she'd never know what it truly felt like without doubt. That was just the way Mary was. She only knew a smile when it was already on her lips, a laugh when it was already interjected, a weep of joy when the tears were already flowing… he could never change that.

Mary itched at her eyebrow, kicking the rest of the unfolded, crumpled garments into the apartment, and finally shut the door. She turned her head to Jinx, avoiding eye contact with Marshall, and was really taking in the banged up floor boards with every ounce of attention she could muster to stop herself from grabbing him away from her own daughter. She knew he'd probably want to do anything but be affectionate toward her. The lady Marshal was so sure she'd never see him again these past few days, she hadn't realized how much it'd hurt if she would have to after all. "Ma, weren't you going to take Bug to the park? I'm sure Marshall could give her up for an hour or so…" Mary mumbled, hearing the squeals of delight from the teeny blonde babe, "or vice versa, Norah could give up Marshall for an hour or so…" she shrugged, letting air escape her mouth, attempting a laugh or leisurely scoff, but it just turned out to be a raspy exhalation.

Jinx was shuffling around, grabbing toys, juice boxes, diapers, changes of clothes, and Norah's stroller, nearly forgetting the most important part of the package… the baby. As Jinx revealed the hallway once more to let in the draft, she had to turn back, and grab her grandchild from Marshall's arms. She hoped she'd be out of Mary's earshot when the fussing began, Norah would realize they weren't going to be near her mother anymore and would eventually start blatting.

Mary was impressed at the swift exit, taking in the flat as it began to feel bare of family.

There was a stone cold chill running up his spine as the silence took on a new light. It was excruciating watching Mary explore the cracks, and crevices of the tile on the ground. He wanted nothing more than for her to look him in the eye, but he knew that was what she was trying not to do. "I don't want to shout," he began, "I just want to make that perfectly clear," he stated calmly, jaw tightening in efforts not to do exactly that.

The weight of the room was immense, heavy on both sides of the forming discussion. This would be a loaded conversation. She sighed, still in self-refusal to glance at him, "I wouldn't blame you if you did, if that makes it easier." Honesty riddled the words, sadness, and fear crept into her inflection.

Why could he feel the burning of his eyes so forcefully now, why did that sentence hurt so much more than anything she'd ever said to him?

As she finally worked up enough courage to take a look at him, a rogue tear was trickling quickly down his wind battered cheeks, and she stood abashed at the thought that a drop of concern, or melancholy would ever be on her account. It felt unfamiliar, and too new for her to express into words any apology, other than strange terror in her speechlessness.

He took the chance for himself, "I just cannot comprehend why a woman of your intellectual stature, and utter knowledge of me, could ever keep something so massively important away from the person that helped get you in said _state_?" he questioned in the most condescending tone he'd ever addressed her in, feeling very dissatisfied by letting this out of his neatly encased brain. The words were gooey from his mouth seemed to leak from even his ears to bubble over onto the floor and seep into the cracks. Mary didn't seem to want enough to fight through this conversation, slouching and taking the scolding like a small child who had eaten an extra sweet, or purposely forgotten to brush their teeth before being tucked into bed. "I'm not Mark, I have been terribly responsible for a greater part of my life, and I don't want to be thought of in the same light as him or your father!" He nearly begged, hands clasping together.

"I didn't want you to know…" He wasn't even sure she'd have a qualifying statement, but she did, "because…" she stomped her foot, "why would you want to?!"

Here it was. The yelling. It was all over now, he reckoned. He would be shouting.

"Because that's my child too, and goddammit, Mary, in no way do you get to take that away from me!"

"I wasn't going to take it away from you!" she argued, "there's never an appropriate moment in a conversation to slide in an, 'oh by the way, I think I may be knocked up, say 'hi' to your ex-wife for me!'"

"I would have much rather have been on the other end of that line, than having been told you were more than half-way through your pregnancy with a child with half _my_ DNA, barely even a week ago!" he tempted, "Mary, it's not the easiest thing to comprehend in the middle of an abashing workday! And you having been in the hospital didn't bring down my stress levels anymore!"

"Well, Marshall, when your forty-three years old, and having your second baby it's real easy for things to go wrong, and it seems whatever can happen has!" she spewed, "and as for you having a stressful time at work, you have NO idea what I have to go through every day, carrying around this extra luggage, and keeping those pervs in check down there at WITSEC training offices!"

He furrowed his brow, sweat trickling down his scalp and fury in his heart after the slightest hint anyone else had been saying anything unbecoming of the mother of his child, "Wait. What are they saying to you?" he hissed, suddenly feeling temptation to connect his knuckles to every one of their jaws.

"Just forget it, Marshall!" she demanded, "There's nothing you can do about them."

He rolled his eyes, "Mary, I think you're forgetting I have more clearance, and authority than just any another WITSEC Inspector. I am the Chief, I can just easily bring on an untimely demise of any of those idiot's careers. You know that," he stated as a matter of fact, "Let me help."

Why did he want to help? He was mad. He wasn't here to help, he was here to set the record straight, make her know he hurt. But, looking at the exhausted version of the usually vivacious Mary had him believing she already knew how bad he felt.

"I don't deserve any help," she muttered, rubbing her side.

"Of course you—

He stopped himself, rubbing his chin, "Mary, if you'd just explain your rationale behind keeping your pregnancy from me, perhaps I can better understand, and we can conclude the shouts, and scolds, and get on with our lives!" he said dramatically.

"Don't you think I would've told you if I had understood it myself?" she admitted, "I really thought you'd just know, like you always do." There was iciness to her voice, and the tone was so saddened it caused him to gulp, and rightly so, as the next words to come from her lips were ones he'd never thought he'd hear. "You haven't been the same, Marshall. Abigail took something from you. She made you different, she made you… weak," Mary sighed solemnly.

He felt his knees wobbling, for he had never thought such a thing. He was too proud to think that any woman could take from him his luster, but, apparently, even to Mary it was lacking from him now. His heart sank with realization, "I should have noticed, Mary," he started, "but, I still can't forgive you for shutting yourself away to me when you knew I could be there for you." Marshall paused for a moment, debating in his mind whether or not he could delicately enough put into words what he had wanted to say for a long time.

He had never felt the stone cold serious stare of her glinting greenish-brown eyes on his own, except for only once. This time her hot and heavy breathing was for something entirely different. "I will never fully realize what it's like in that mind of yours, Mary, and everyone thinks me crazy to wonder. And you may not possess the knowledge as to why I do, either, but I do have to tell you one thing. In your world, there are more than just people out to get you. There are people who are absolutely willing to thrust themselves into gunfire, and in front of buses to see you get out of your heartache alive, and I am one of them. I greatly respect your pain, your privacy, and know not a soul more loyal than yourself, but that does not give you the right to lie to the man that has been through your especially made-up hell to get to you." He felt tiredness come over him. "I have seen the dark corners of your mind, I have the roadmap through your rocky, self-induced misery, and I refuse to run away from it feeling the same way you do, and letting you wallow in everything."

She crossed her arms, "A simple 'get over yourself' would've sufficed."

"But, it wouldn't have, and you are completely aware of that. You wouldn't have listened," he replied raspy. "You don't listen, unless you need to think about something," Marshall supplied, "and I make you think."

"Why don't you get when I think only bad things happen?" she yelled, "I can't afford to lose anything else, not after you. I couldn't do it again!"

Marshall was extremely inept of any good feeling today, and wanted so badly to take her into his arms to find him some, but he didn't want to relay the impression there were no hard feelings, when there certainly was.

"You're not cursed, Mary. You just think you are," he said boldly.

"Well, don't you just know it all," she spat.

"I don't claim to know it all, but when it comes to you, I know a lot." He countered with the same brashness he had found within himself just seconds ago. "If only you could get over _that._" Marshall pointed out exasperatedly.

"Oh, and I guess you think I'll have some kind of revelation, realize I can't live without you, and we'll live happily ever after?! Is that it?!" she shouted, "I'd hate to disappoint you, but just because you hopped a plane, and are here right now in my apartment doesn't mean I'm going to fall apart, and decide I have nothing better to do than love you forever!" There were tears streaming down her face, redness in her cheeks, bloodshot eyes, "we aren't the rom-com, Marshall!"

He could feel his own face turn to pouting, "I would never expect you to change. For you, such a thing is impossible."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" she gritted her teeth, "what do I need to change for?!" She moved forward, hands shifting to her middle as if she already knew the answer.

"It's not 'what' you need to change for! It's 'who!'" He corrected abruptly, obviously having thought this over before. All of those nights wondering how he could get around the Mary Shannon barrier, he always reverted back to it being her that needed to step aside the wall she had built- not him. Unfortunately, as Marshall had already let slip, she wouldn't be changing, for anything, or anyone.

"Everyone who needs me, doesn't mind me the way I am!" she hollered, "And—

"How do you know?! Is anyone in your family really brave enough to tell you so?!" Marshall flung his arms to gesture toward her temporary home, indicating to Norah's toys, and Jinx's array of jackets. "Your mother won't open her mouth, because she's too afraid you'll snatch her away from her grandkids, your sister is too afraid of you, and used to being scolded, and berated for every single life choice she makes, and your daughter can't put two and two together yet to understand that you run, and run, but never get anywhere!" he caught his breath, "and finally, that baby has been telling you to slow down from the get-go, and you're even too stubborn to open your ears to medical advice!" He kicked the edge of the rug, having caught his shoe on it too many times during this argument.

Mary was silent, lips pursed, wild green and brow speckled seas roaring with stormy intentions.

"And for your information, I've loved you the way you've been, but I am just too exhausted to fight you any more, Mary. And I resent myself for that," he sighed, swiping his forehead, "let somebody else take care of you, emerge from your egocentric, emotionally blocked off world…"

She let out a sharp exhale, "Why don't you just give up? Why _do_ you fight me?! Why can't you take two seconds to figure out what you really want?!"Mary crossed the living room, "because I guarantee you it won't be me." She wrapped a blanket that had been draped over her bedroom door around her body, and then perched on the couch, her cheeks still pink from their kerfuffle.

Marshall was worn down, feeling heartless and plain old terrible. He hadn't meant to get into it this deep with his pregnant best friend. He had never intended to verbally, and mentally smack Mary around, at least not as much as he had. He lowered himself to the cushion beside her, his head throbbing, and heart thumping. He knew this couldn't be resolved in one day, maybe not even a week, and because this was Mary after all, perhaps it would take longer.

She scooted in the opposite direction, clearly too tired to threaten him, or too hard-headed in proving her point she doesn't really run away. Mary was to stay put, her mind was set on it- no matter how close he became, no matter how the wonderful, rustic scent of his cologne wafted to her nostrils, no matter how his warmth radiating from him made the NYC blues go away.

Marshall grabbed her hand, intertwining his five, long, lanky fingers into her well-groomed, self-manicured ones. "I've had a lot of time to do that thinking, too much of it, really, and I can't help the fact that it's always been you," he quivered, "always."

It had been too long ago with each other, and as fulfilling as it was, it was long gone. They were both just wishing it wasn't too late.

_**Thank you for reading! I hope I didn't disappoint! Please review and tell me what you think!**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: You are all lovely, you make my FFN world go round, and I hate to leave you like this. But, tomorrow I am getting surgery that will leave me… bleh. So, here's a chapter to tide you over! Love, love, love, love, LOVE! Hope you enjoy!**_

Marshall excused himself from the apartment for a short while, finding the laundry room, he sat upon a dryer. He checked through his e-mails, answered a few of Delia's questions, and sat back for a moment with his eyes closed. It was quiet, but the good kind of quiet. He had never experienced such a full silence until today, perched next to Mary hand in hand, both so unable to argue any more. He said he'd be back, but was trying to convince himself to run through New York for a little bit to clear his mind. At the same time, he thought, his mind would probably never be clear again. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the sonogram which Jinx had slid into his grasp a few hours ago, and he just stared. It was an adrenaline pinching sight, that he was half responsible for an entire human being had him nearly shaking, and shuddering. It also had him so incredibly nervous that he had begun kicking the dryer with his heel, out of rhythm, a completely neurotic beat. He went on for a while, he just didn't know how long.

Marshall never realized he could be disturbing anyone, until he heard someone clear their throat, leaning on the doorframe was Mary, eyes glued in the direction of her feet, even though Marshall knew she couldn't see them anymore. His legs stopped swinging immediately, his heart thudded in his chest, so much so he thought she may hear it herself. The loud banging ceased, and Marshall imagined the occupants of the complex sighing in relief. "My other load of clothes is in that machine you're sitting on," she stated, gesturing meekly to him.

He gasped an, "Oh" in understanding, and hopped down. He felt himself switch to auto-pilot, pulling open the dryer, and taking all of the garments in one armful, because he noticed there was no basket in sight.

"You don't have to do that—

"But, I want to," he said forcefully.

With that exalting blow to her brashness, she stood without words, turning back around to find her way to her apartment once more. He followed her in, and she grabbed a basket for him to dispose of the clothes with. Again they stood in the damp apartment, together, and it didn't feel wrong. She sat on the arm of the couch, "So, w-where are y-you staying?" she stuttered uncomfortably, "Is WITSEC putting you up, or are you on your own?"

"It was completely my doing to displace myself from Albuquerque, so I expect no help from the program," he responded carefully. "That's perfectly acceptable. I am capable of finding a hotel, and I'm sure I'm welcome down the street at the training facilities for a few nights."

"How long do you plan on staying?" Mary asked, clearly unimpressed with the answer.

Marshall smiled weakly, hands folding in front of him, "As long as it takes."

"As long as what takes?" she wondered knowingly, "because if the 'what' is me, then you're sourly mistaken for staying."

"I beg to differ," he replied, "you're not as tough as you think, and I'm not as weak as I think. I'm not asking for engagements and marriages, because by far I've already failed that. I'm just asking for a chance to be here- see our son or daughters first everythings, walking, words, birthday… I don't want to be in the background setting the scene, I want to be in it. With you," he ended.

"Marshall…" she began like she had a million times before, "you know I can't—

"This can be completely platonic," he interjected. "It doesn't have to be something you're not comfortable with."

She frowned, watching the door open behind him, she heard the squeals of Norah, and Jinx's shushes. Looking back to Marshall she demanded, "You can stay here tonight. There's a couch, and I have extra sheets and a pillow. It would be nonsense for you to go anywhere else, no matter our differences."

And for a moment he thought she was only being nice, but then he saw what had her enlightened at the prospect. It was Norah again, jibbering her magical baby jabber, and letting out the neediest of whines- her whine for attention. But, it wasn't Mary's she sought after, it was Marshall's. He was confused about the notion, that Norah wanted him and not her mother. He could assume it was because he and Mark had the same short brown stubble on their chins nowadays, or his voice was just welcomingly deeper, but he knew he'd be wrong. The tiny blonde tot was drawn toward him like she was to Mary, because he was family.

She slobbered on his shoulder, whispering gibberish into his completely interested ear, looking back and forth between him and Mary every now and then as if any moment the two would converge as one. Norah gripped tightly at his shirt, like she'd never let go, her tiny fingers were almost etched into the pattern, and curled around the horizontal stripes of the plaid. It wasn't long until she was exhausted, but not fussy, her right cheek pressed against his collar bone, eyelids aflutter as if they were too heavy for her to keep open any longer. Succumbing to sleep seemed to be the last thing she wanted to do, for her feet kicked just the slightest bit every now and then as if to keep her from becoming too comfortable.

Mary had been watching the entire time, although she would never admit it. She watched him tickle her, and talk with her, swipe the hair from her mouth, and eyes, stroke her chubby, pink cheeks. She observed his every gesture, every movement, all similar if not the same to hers, parental, authoritative, but plump full of hope, pride, and love. He was the perfect parent then, and had been for the longest time- sometimes, not even to Norah, but to her. He was steady on his feet, planted solidly on the ground, and for the first time in a very long while she was sure he wouldn't be leaving- not without her. This wasn't last year, this wasn't thirty years ago. This was now.

Norah lay snoozing on his chest. He had settled onto a couch cushion, and Mary and him had been exchanging glances, and keeping alive some forced small talk. Jinx had offered him a bowl of pasta, which he turned down claiming he still had airplane belly. Mary scarfed hers down without so much as a 'thank you' to her mother, but the dark haired woman seemed content enough with the emptiness of the dish, and dashed off to bed as soon as the utensils were cleaned, and shoved back into the drawers. Marshall was very much impressed with the level of domesticity that had been reached in the household without sarcastic and venomous comments from Mary. He was also pleased to find Jinx had grown up in ample time to watch her granddaughters do the same.

He hadn't realized the lag of conversation from the opposite side of the living room while he watched Norah's chest move up, and down, fingers in her mouth, slurping through whatever she may be dreaming of. When he looked to Mary to see why she hadn't been agreeing with his thoughts about the weather, he saw her slumped over, softly snoring, blanket covering her bump, and thighs. Marshall smiled in spite of himself, "My girls were tired, weren't they?"

He said this aloud, and then quickly became anxious awaiting Mary's disgusted insult to come, but it didn't. She was very much asleep, her snores becoming louder by the second. Her room was just a few feet away, but the purple showcasing her shut eyes were worrisome to him, as well as the swelled ankles propped on the coffee table. Marshall examined them a little more closely purse lipped and bothered, baby still in his arms.

With stealthy steps, more silent than the New York City sounds; he searched for Norah's things, which he found most of in Mary's room. She was in need of a diaper change, and he purposely took a longer amount of time than he normally would have completing the task, because he stopped each time the little one seemed to stir and he thought she was waking completely. He managed to get her down to a onesie, and then placed her in her crib to finish out her slumber without him.

Next was Mary, but he didn't know of a way to not disturb her sleep. She didn't look comfortable where she was, and if her ankles were any hint, her back was probably very sore as well. The last thing he wanted to do was budge her eyes open, and drag her off to bed on her already hurting feet, but he also wasn't sure his idea would have her very impressed with him either.

It was both consoling, and disgruntling to find she was not as heavy as she looked. She made herself out to be larger than she was, her broad shoulders could be blamed for that, as well as her plentiful attitude. Everything about her made her seem so much bigger, even though she was not. Mary fit delightfully into his arms, filling the crooks as if she belonged there. He found himself unfazed, but actually quite relaxed with her against him, from the close contact of her side on his own, he could feel the ripples on the surface of her belly, and he'd never felt a feeling more inhibited than that.

Unlike Norah, she awoke as he pulled the covers back and threw them over her. It wasn't a fully alert Mary who said, "Thank you, doofus," and drifted completely back to dreamland.

It was unlike him to be sleepy, but he was. So he made his way back to the living room, folded the laundry that he had carried in, and positioned himself on the couch, after kicking his shoes off and placing them side by side beside him. He didn't need a bed sheet, or a pillow, he was already gone.

When his eyes opened the next morning, there was a brown eyed little lady looking at him with the most curious of expressions, and most importantly, her tiny feet were lost deep in his dress shoes. He let out a loud chuckle, lifting her from them, and placing her atop his stomach, nearly unnoticing of Mary sitting in her spot from the previous night- watching yet again.

"Norah Bug," he cooed, "I don't think those are really your appeal, perhaps we should take a step in another direction: first we should find a shoe that doesn't weigh more than you do, and second, a pair that hasn't seen the likes of Oscar," he winked, which the girl found highly hysterical.

She busied herself with his collar for a few moments gurgling, and bouncing. He shot a glance to Mary, "Are you back in the work force, yet? Or do you have more time off?"

"I can go whenever I'm ready," she stated sternly. "I just have to give Deputy DoucheBag a call."

He smirked at the nickname, so fitting for Lance Carter, "I see."

Mary wiggled in her seat for a moment, sighing in exasperation.

"Is everything… well, how do I put this without you biting my head off?" he admitted. "Are you feeling well?"

"I'm fine," she responded purse lipped. "Don't make a big deal of a kick to the kidney, and a little high blood pressure, Marshall. It's unbecoming of anyone to worry the way you do."

"What can I say, it's in my DNA to worry about you…" he said sweetly. "You're my best friend."

She sighed, "For being best friends we surely have ourselves in a sticky situation," Mary stood up, smoothing her pants, and then resting her right hand upon her protruding middle.

"I think we can handle it," Marshall responded, tickling beneath Norah's chin. "If that baby has even half the demeanor of our Norah Bug here, we will be in for a real treat!" He smiled, while Mary stood frozen with shock. At what, he couldn't figure.

With a sharp exhale she burst, "Why are you still talking to me? You have every right to storm out, and slam doors, break lamps, but you just… stay," Mary bit her lip, "why do you stay for me?"

Marshall lowered his eyes, threw his feet onto the floor, got up, and put Norah in her playpen before he answered. Then, feet away from her, much closer than he had been he stood, and subconsciously, he stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I don't know," he admitted, "and I don't think I ever will. But, what I do know is that, you are a wonderful mother, and I am the luckiest man or getting to share this with you." His hands hovered over her belly, yearning to touch, but knowing better.

It was unexpected that she wrapped him in her grasp, and pulled him close. He did the same, resting his chin on her head, "I love you Mary, and I hope someday you'll feel secure enough in my arms to feel the same…"

And with five little words, he nearly tumbled over. She exhaled raggedly, still keeping her own face away from his eyes, "I do feel the same."

_**Please review and tell me what you think!**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N: I'm back! Only half of my face is fully functional due to some complications- but that should better itself eventually! Sorry to keep you waiting! Hope you enjoy this chapter! Maybe Marshall can get her home, eh?**_

_**XXX**_

The air in the New York City WITSEC division was substantially thicker than that of ABQ headquarters. There seemed to be less oxygen for each Inspector, limited space for one's own respiration, and a tenseness which weighed heavy upon his shoulders. He knew a handful of these turned heads had spat unsavory attitude at the blonde beside him, and that had his teeth ground into his lip as deep as they could go without drawing crimson. What he found especially disconcerting was the greeting he received from Lance Carter. With a firm handshake and slightly pleasant smirk he nodded his head in welcome. Afterward he wandered through the building, Marshall following closely behind, on their way to the training facility. Mary had skedaddled to the elevators, to acquire some gym attire, and Chiefs Mann, and Carter had decided upon the stairs as their way up to level three. There were stares of many, some halted paperwork, others no longer clicked upon their keyboards, and a few even stood to get a closer look at the strange Marshal that had accompanied Mary Shannon in this morning.

It was a new feeling for Marshall, to have all eyes on him. In Albuquerque, your business was your own, but here in New York City, every building seemed to be so close no one really had that freedom. You'd know each other's personals before the day was out. Marshall could see plainly that these people would clash with Mary, for Mary was secretive, and unapologetic of being so. The bump she concealed underneath her jacket was her own to carry around, and not a soul was supposed to know of its existence or hear any more about it, but Marshall knew, at that moment- everyone was sure he was the reason for its being.

Upon their arrival they looked painfully normal. They were close enough side by side that Mary's blazer clad elbow touched his own, and their badges gleamed evenly beside the other. Marshall felt a little less tired than he had in weeks, even though this had by far been the most stressful few days ever- and he had gone through a divorce. Mary was a tad bit brighter than usual, which no one would notice, because as soon as Carter had words with her, her mood turned sour. Marshall's service today was mostly to give him a good talking to, and let the fellow Chief know that he'd be high tailing it out of New York City with Mary as soon as she got a few appointments out of the way, and doctors cleared her for flying. If he had to, he'd pack her and Norah along with Jinx up in his rented compact vehicle and take the highway out of here, putting everything on a credit card. He was willing to spend a million dollars to get his girls anywhere but here.

Up the first flight of stairs, and three more seconds into Carter's ramblings, Marshall couldn't take politeness any longer. "Listen, Lance," he interrupted. "Inspector Shannon needs early dismissal from this assignment. I already have a replacement that I'll send up when Shannon's feet hit New Mexican ground, but it's urgently necessary she be back in Albuquerque, working out obligations at her own desk."

"Excuse me," He stopped at the top of the second flight, leaning lucidly on the railing, smug expression on his face. "but, Inspector Shannon has obligations here, too, Marshall. I can't just take away a beneficial training supplement, because you and her are tangled in personal issues you can't absolve over the phone."

Marshall's eyes widened, "Inspector Shannon's issues are purely health based. There is a simple solution to this problem, which I think you are purposely making more complicated. We needn't make this a big ordeal. I have a replacement. She can be here in thirty-six hours, more capable and reliable! You surely can't be as unreasonable as everyone makes you out to be!"

"I'd hate to be such a hard-ass, Marshall, but you sent her here for a thirty-two week stint as an officer in my division, and it's only been a measly twenty-four. It would be a shame if you didn't hold up your end of the agreement. WITSEC has only been attempting to create a camaraderie between large-city divisions for its entire existence, it would certainly be a blow to your buddy Stan McQueen's career if it became known he was the reason for a substantial disagreement between the ABQ, and NYC offices."

Marshall stood completely still, eyes closed, his mouth slightly agape. His face was a shade of pink brighter than the polluted evening city sky, "Deputy Director McQueen has nothing to do with this! Why are you making childish threats, when my request is easily and painlessly doable?"

"It's not that Mary is an asset to this office- not at all. It's mostly the fact that someone needs to put her in her place, Mann, and you're too much of a pansy to get it done!" Lance Carter crossed his arms, "I'm doing you a favor."

"I don't appreciate such low blows," Marshall spat, coming very close. He nudged his chest, "and as for your lame brain excuse for keeping my Inspector, I am utterly disappointed. If anyone were tainting the relationship between city divisions it would be you!" He should have kept the rest to himself, "And on the topic of Mary Shannon- I am one of the _many _other Inspectors who would vouch that she is one of the best in the service, and it's only pea brain, sexist, assholes like you and your NYC cronies that see it any other way!" His chest rose up and down furiously, and he turned around for a second to catch his breath. Then he caught a second wind,

"You step back for just a moment, and realize what you've said in the first place, because I heard threatening undertones toward my Inspector, and that is entirely inappropriate! Mary needn't be obedient, because she isn't one of your whipped, irrational trainees, who have no respect for anyone aside from themselves! Being a WITSEC Inspector isn't just a disdain for those who do-wrong, it's a respect for those who give up their lives for the program, and Mary has done nothing but! How dare you throw cruel and unwarranted words at a woman six months pregnant and call yourselves Inspectors at all!" he finished, breathing heavily, hurting everywhere, angry at everyone, ready for Lance Carter to tastes his knuckles if need be. But, as expected, Chief Carter was all talk. He did back away.

"I apologize to have gotten you all frazzled, Marshall Mann, but it has to be Inspector Shannon telling me she's resigning from the position if there are no WITSEC related emergencies, and we both know she won't be doing that," Lance Carter smiled.

"You're a real misogynistic bastard," Marshall growled, "you're not gonna last very long in this division…"

His eyes still glittered with ignorance, and bliss, "I think you and I both know there isn't much more than paperwork, so I'll be perfectly safe. Now, if you allow me, I'll lead you to the training facility where your girlfriend will probably be starting her first class by now."

"Inspector Shannon is not my girlfriend," Marshall replied through clenched teeth.

"Oh yeah, you're only her baby daddy," he responded smugly, stepping aside, and rushing past Marshall to open the heavy door.

Marshall Mann stood with his hands on his hips, and his head bowed in rage. "You keep your nose out of my business, will you Carter?" he growled.

He laughed, "I'm sorry, Mann. I'm apologetic to say, I don't like the way ABQ WITSEC is handling business, missing Chiefs, oh, and he just so happens to be the father of his lead Inspector's baby. Doesn't seem like a good way to run things," he added rudely.

"Nobody asked you." Marshall responded immediately, "Our office runs more efficiently than any other in the United States!"

Lance Carter grinned even wider, "Not for long…"

"Although it's hard to believe, I won't be losing sleep, or wasting even a shred of space in my mind for even a second thinking that's possible," Marshall replied, "Now show me to my Inspector!"

"Denial is a sweet emotion to bask in. Just wait until reality steps in."

But, Marshall was already well on his way, looking to find Mary without any help. They were like two children arguing with each other, Lance walked ahead of him, he reciprocated, until both of them were flustered, staring down the confused eyes of twenty-eight future WITSEC Inspectors wearing their sweat pants and t-shirts. Mary was wearing the same, her top a little more baggy, her face just as red as the two chiefs'. "Why don't you two knob jobs get lost?" she scolded, "We're kind of in the middle of something!"

"Inspector, we'll be observing your session this morning," Lance boomed. He then turned to the men, "This is Chief Marshall Mann from the Albuquerque office, him and I are looking on today's training practices for evaluation purposes."

Marshall couldn't find a smile, so he let the sweat trickle from his brow, and he shot them a stern look. He waved, "Good Morning to you, I'm very pleased to be on your turf and wish that we can work together efficiently to get me back home."

From the back corner he heard someone mumble, "Will you take this broad with you, too?"

His head shot up following the low voices, not low enough, for his blood began to boil in his veins, and there was nothing Lance Carter could do to stop it.

"Excuse me?!" Marshall shouted toward the back corner, "you there, what's your name?"

The broad shouldered, dark haired, and brown skinned man pointed to himself, "Who, me?"

"Yes, you, Inspector… Inspector _what_?" the lankier of them replied, hands on his hips, temper very obviously raging.

"Inspector Lawrence Chamberland," he muttered.

"Well, Inspector Chamberland, forgive me for being so brash, but you must, without delay, apologize to Inspector Shannon," Marshall approached slowly, "because that level of disrespect toward your peers is unacceptable. I assure you with her know-how, this course could surely save your life. That's a woman who's saved _my_ ass on multiple occasions with her sharp wit, and skillful executions! So, I suggest, if you value your own pride, you utter the words, "I'm sorry" in the next fifteen seconds."

The stranger clenched his jaw, and then looked to Mary who had her mouth agape, "I'm very sorry, Inspector Shannon, I really do value you taking your time to be here."

It was the least sincere she'd ever heard anyone be, but her anger was less toward the bad apology than toward Marshall, who just humiliated her with his always seemingly good intentions. She wanted to throttle him, and he could easily see that in her red face, and that fiery glint in her eyes. He realized he'd crossed the line, even more when the room was so silent, everyone's breathing was muffled by themselves to be utterly quiet.

Lance Carter cleared his throat, and raised his voice, "Carry on, everyone, Marshall and I will be over here, not making a peep." he warned his peer through inflection.

It was a challenge for Marshall to keep his mouth shut for the entirety of the class, the snickers, the talking back, and the way Mary had to shout, and strain her already breaking voice to be heard over the extraordinarily loud egos in the room had him completely on edge, and he knew they were all doing it on purpose.

He'd never felt as out of control as he had now, and even more so when they all started filtering out the door, including Lance Carter. He knew he was in for it, when Mary got a hold of him.

"What was that crap attack, back there, huh?!" she shouted, shoving him against the wall. He was caught off guard, slamming against the tile roughly. He wouldn't have fought her off anyway. "I can take care of myself! How many times do I have to tell you that?!"

His first instinct was to advise her to calm down, but that notion quickly faded when he saw the actual frustration welling up in her eyes. "I- I don't know what got into me, Mary. I didn't mean to make you upset."

She scoffed, "You really just don't get it! Go, Marshall! Run back to Albuquerque, I don't want you mixed up in this New York City bullshit! And especially not _this _mess," she scolded him, gesturing to her middle.

He shook his head, "But, I _want _to be a part of it. Better yet, I want to be a part of it in New Mexico, where our homes are, where we both _belong. _I made a mistake sending you here. I didn't know it would be any different than New Jersey. I thought you'd have an upper hand in the NorthEast, and I apologize that I was incorrect in that assumption. Delia's lived here before, Mary. She can compete with these guys," he assured, as if saying someone else could do the job better would have her ready to go.

"I can't just leave! I can't!" Mary argued, letting him go. "What would they think of me, then? They'd know something was up between you and I! That's one call for Lance Carter, _one_! And then, poof- I'd be transferred in a heartbeat!"

Marshall was about to begin before her words fully processed, then he took a moment to really interpret it, "Is there a _you and I_?" he wondered.

Mary stomped her foot, "I don't think you're understanding what I'm saying here, Marshall!"

"No," he stated. "I do. But, what I have to know, so I can take care of what needs to be taken care of, is- is there a _you and I_?"

She gulped, staring at him with a searching green-brown speckled gaze. "Doesn't there have to be?" she whispered, palms pressed against her stomach, revealing the protrusion by tightening the baggy tee to show him.

"Not if you don't want to," he replied seriously. "I'm not forcing you into anything." He caressed her cheek with his right hand. "I think it's time you tell me, though."

There was a few seconds of silence, racking their bodies, confusing them both. Marshall ached for a response, but wasn't willing to rush it. This was progress, he realized. What she said next could change everything.

It was then, that Lance Carter poked his head in, "Do you two Inspectors plan on joining me any time soon?" His voice dripped with rudeness, and Marshall could see the anger welling up inside of her- he was suddenly grateful she didn't have her glock on hand.

Mary closed her eyes, biting her lip, she turned to the waiting Marshal, looking onto their intimate scene with cruelty in his face, as if he had planned to interrupt the entire thing from the get-go. "I quit."

"Excuse me?" Carter asked incredulously, shutting the door behind him.

"I think you heard me," Mary countered, "I resign. I'm done here. Once my badge is scanned through at those double doors downstairs, and I'm set free from this hole, I'm leaving this sloppy city, and I'm never looking back."

Marshall knew he shouldn't have been grinning the way he was.

But, he just couldn't help it.

_**Thanks for reading! Please review and tell me what you think! Unfortunately, everything can't stay good, readers! So enjoy these sweeter chapters *cackles maniacally***_


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: Please, don't hate me. Please. Pleaseeee. Enjoy the read! Drama, where would we be without drama? **_

_**XXX**_

It had been 24 weeks.

Getting out of New York City wasn't as easy as he had hoped. It took a near forty-eight hours of back and forth phone calls with D.C. WITSEC headquarters trying to put the final nail in Mary's New York Witness Protection career. She wasn't as cooperative as it seemed she would be in that moment she slammed Lance Carter, and Marshall was haggard from the talking he had been doing. His patience was running very low, petty arguments would erupt quite easily in all hours of the day. Mary was even moodier than ever, him being under the same roof had her strange and uncomfortable. His back ached from staying on the couch, which was now the only remaining furniture aside from Mary's mattress. Every other piece of furniture had been cleared away by the company she had rented from, and her deposit had been returned, which had been the only expense she had—had to pay out of her own pocket. Marshall had Norah in his lap, cellphone pressed to his ear, booking plane tickets, when Mary came bursting in, "Did you call Stan and tell him Carter was being a jackass because I was _pregnant?!"_

The look of disgust on her face made him gulp, and he tried to keep a stern expression, "It's the only way we have to put pressure on him. You being pregnant was after all a large part of his resentment—

"Bullshit it was!" she growled, "I think it was _you_." She pointed an accusatory finger at him, "you goddamn near harassed him every single day, what makes you think you're not the one at fault!?" Mary kicked the door shut with her heel, then planted her feet firmly to keep her balance as gracefully as possible.

Marshall placed Norah on the bare floor to play with the few toys that hadn't been packed away. "Carter was only being absolutely unreasonable because of your condition, you know that." He nodded as if this would do the reassuring, instead of his words, unfortunately he struck a wrong chord.

"My _condition_?!" she repeated, "I have no _condition, _Marshall," she paused for a second before shrugging angrily, "What does that even _mean_?! The moment the stick was positive, I had rights to a handicap parking sticker?!"

"Okay, Mary," he attempted, "I get your point, that was insensitive of me, but going back to the bigger picture, you must realize it has to have something to do with it!" He took a step forward, "It most definitely isn't your work ethic, or your drive, it had to be an outside force…"

She narrowed her eyes, "Like my attitude? Is that what you're saying?"

It was a trap. He knew it. "No. Not your attitude," he lied, "but let's take a moment to realize it could have very well been because of your pregnancy."

Mary rolled her eyes, "Even if it was, I don't want you making it seem to Stan that I am a whiny, little sissy!" she countered desperately, "I don't need HR blowing up my phone with gritty, stupid questions about my ever expanding situation, here!" she shouted, gesturing to her middle.

Marshall smiled tiredly, "Human Resources will be doing nothing of the sort. I promise, anyone asking anything about Lance Carter will have to call me first. I've delved into this ocean of regulations and protocols; I'll drown in it before I pull you in too."

"I don't even want you coming to me when your lungs are _filling_ with protocols, and regulations! I'm not your life preserver in this awful metaphor! Got it, Marshall!?" Mary dug her knuckles into her side, obviously worked up, face pink, chest moving up and down quickly as she waited for his response. There was this awful screen of worry in her face, and it had been the same way since he had come.

"Of course, Mary. This is all on me, you're right I shouldn't have gone behind your back," he stated calmly. "I just don't want that insensitive piece of garbage running a division if it's possible," Marshall replied lowering his voice. "I'm sorry to have used you."

She wobbled a little, then strode to the couch, sitting in satisfaction as if she won the verbal battle, "Damn straight, you should be. I don't like that asshat either, but I'm not going to be the reason for his one way ticket out of the force. The names they call me are already not-so flattering, imagine the ones I'd gain if I got their beloved boss booted from law enforcement."

"Well, if we do, in fact, cause him to get the boot, I hope you don't take all of the credit," Marshall joked, winking. "Besides, we're leaving, tomorrow if I can help it," he added with a wink, looking at his phone still pressed to his ear, beginning to become antsy about being on hold for so long.

"Don't wink," she spat, "that's creepy. Both eyes are either open or closed, nothing in between."

He laughed, "That's actually very unreasonable."

"How do you figure? When do you only have _one_ eye open, Poindexter?" she asked menacingly.

Marshall crossed his arms to think as he took a seat beside her. "Have you ever tried to text in the dark? It's very difficult to look at your lit up screen, when your eyes aren't used to such contrast. Or perhaps you've experienced the dreaded citrus juice in the eye scenario…"

Mary scoffed, "The 'citrus juice in the eye' scenario? That's not a thing. You can't make up things."

"I can't make up 'things,' I can't wink… what_ can_ I do?"

"I don't know, but it can't involve winking or making up 'things.'" She answered shortly, and if she wasn't utterly serious, he could have burst out with the grown-man giggles. But, the way her lips were pursed, and her jaw line was so prominent, he figured he'd better not.

Mary wiped a few strands of hair from her face. "And you can't be so annoying."

Marshall's brow rose. "Am I being 'annoying?'" he wondered honestly, thinking he was only being playful. "It seems our communication has turned sour these twenty- three, some odd weeks apart, huh?"

She huffed, "Yeah, if you call what we used to do, 'communication.'" Mary picked at her teeth with her fingernail.

He laughed crudely, "I don't quite understand…"

"Marshall," she groaned, "You knocked me up immediately post- divorce of Not-So Goody Goody Gumdrop, after a very long stretch of us barely even speaking to each other!" It was as if she was disappointed that he wasn't on the same level as she was, and her hands rested lazily on her belly.

He ended the call on his iPhone, sensing a real argument in the near future. He gulped, sitting there for a moment. He remembered her hands all over him, and it seemed she was on him again, breath hot, the mood heavy. Marshall shook his head, stammering a bit, "It w-was a heat of the moment happening…" he defended brusquely. "A lot of people seek sex for comfort…"

Her eyes widened, and her back straightened, "You _sought _after sex? So, _what_? Was I just the lucky one? I was in your sights, an easy target, I was hot, so you chose me?!" she questioned angrily.

"That's not what I meant!" Marshall lowered his voice. "Mary we've both been combatting mutual feelings—

"Don't you dare begin to tell me what I've been combatting, Mr. Big Shot, it's been you, fighting off some serious demons! Leave me out of your justifications!"

Marshall frowned, "It's not just me who needs to justify, Mary! We really need to talk about this!"

"What is there to talk about?!" she questioned as if she were unaware. Mary stood now, intimidating to the still seated man. "Is me hightailing it out of this city, and back on your watch not good enough for you?!"

So it was out. Marshall had hoped he wouldn't seem to be overstepping his boundaries, but she clearly felt that way. "I don't want you back in Albuquerque, because I want to _watch _you. I want us to be a family, Mary!" A vein in his head pulsated, as he stood too, watching her with his eyes so intently.

She bit her bottom lip, eyes full of tears. "I don't think I can do that."

He felt ridiculous, the way his eyes also began to brim, "You don't want to be a family?" he questioned, weakening. His voice was low, sad, and it seemed to faze her enough. Her eyes were wide, unbelieving of the raging melancholy which radiated from him.

"E-everything is j-just a mess, right now." Mary rubbed at her cheek. "I'm not saying _never_. I just can't, _now._"

"What's wrong with _now, _Mary?! Why is it always later?! Don't you think I may be tired of waiting for you?!" he wondered angrily.

"Marshall," she began tiredly. "It's not that.. I don't…"

He grimaced at her nonsensical rambling, "Then, what could it be?!" Norah watched them absolutely fascinated, expression especially cross for a baby. "I know you couldn't possibly believe I'd make a bad father…" Marshall whispered incredulously.

"Don't be stupid, Marshall," she quivered. "I'm not worried about you… I'm not even worried about _me._" She gestured to her daughter, who had her bottom planted upon the wood floor, little hand gripping the corner of a box.

This struck him rather horribly. "Tell me what you're worried about, Mary." He demanded kindly. "I can try to help…" He had his hand upon her shoulder, which tensed underneath his touch. She was hiding something.

She gulped, shuddering, "I want to be a family. God, how I want that, and it's not you… I just can't put you through it, Marshall…"

"Put me through what?" he asked curiously, trying to diminish the urge to tell her she couldn't possibly put him through any more.

"You haven't asked me once how the baby is," she said through light sobs. He didn't understand at first, but the hazy horror in her expression was becoming less so, and he wanted so badly for her to tell him what she meant.

He shook his head, "The evening I arrived, Jinx told me that everything was well… you were both healthy and on track, and_ you_ may have even claimed everything was well too…. I can't remember…." Marshall furrowed his brow at the way she couldn't look up, without quickly averting her soaked orbs away from him. He was suddenly feeling very sick, realizing Jinx would only know what Mary told her. And he knew better than to think that Mary told her anything. He ran the back of his hand tenderly across her cheek, "H-how _is _the baby?"

A look of utter hopelessness damaged the already cracking features of the woman so close to him. "You may not get to be a dad very long, Marshall…. It's bad…"

_Bad. _He thought. Everything seemed bad, lately. Bad news, bad timing, bad choices… "What precisely is the matter?" he asked.

And when Mary took a few seconds to answer, he took her closer, so they were completely against one another. Her hand was between them, though, cupped around her middle. _His_ hand was on the small of her back, gently rubbing circles to soothe the cries rising from her throat. Marshall didn't yet know the severity of the situation, but his heart drummed achingly in his chest at the pain which she had been feeling on her lonesome.

"A heart defect," he heard her croak amongst the sounds of misery.

Marshall felt her shrink in his arms. She was so small for those few seconds, nearly inconsolable to him, for he was feeling the same on the inside, and he couldn't put forth any condoling words because of it. And in the moment, he seemed unable to continue with the unfortunate topic… "I heard you didn't want to find out the sex until_ I_ found out…" he lightened, resting his chin on the top if her head, "is that true?"

Norah pulled at the leg of his pants, as she got to her own two feet. He didn't mind the nudging, was barely fazed by the little one's doing. She wobbled on her legs, using Mary's pant leg for support as well.

"Yeah," Mary replied quietly. "They gave me an envelope with the results in it at my last appointment, in case I changed my mind in between shifting back to Doctor Reese…"

"Are you even the least bit curious… to see what our baby will be?" he questioned her in the most lovely way, with a silky tone he'd wished he'd used on her before. She let his hands touch her tummy, and let his fingertips gingerly play upon the surface. He was pleased to feel a tiny appendage react to his palm.

She sniffled, "I didn't find out for Norah.." Mary let her arm dangle at her left side to fiddle with a few strands of the girl's light hair, "but don't want it to only be my choice this go around…" Her eyes were puffy, and the green of them was squelched by the disheartening redness due to the way they were bloodshot. Tears still rolled freely down her face, and Marshall still hadn't any way to address his own terror, let alone Mary's undeniably more horrible version, so he soldiered through.

He took her other hand, and leaned back to take a better look at her. "Would you mind terribly if we took a peek?"

"Marshall, we can't…" Mary whimpered, "what if—

"No, 'what if's!'" he scolded, "Complications or none… we have a baby on the way…" Marshall closed his eyes, "so… we open the envelope, and we find out…." He continued slowly, "and we go about each day like new parents awaiting the birth of their son or daughter."

He smiled reassuringly, like it would all be that easy.

Mary pulled away, still unsure, still hesitant; she removed the folded envelope from her pocket.

Marshall seemed somewhat surprised she had the information on her person, so easily obtainable, and had the self-control to not peel open and reveal the surprise on her own.

He watched her intently as she tore the corner from the seal, and raised his eyebrows surprised when she handed it to him. "You do it," she exhaled nervously.

Marshall nodded, taking it from her, but not letting go of her fingers for a moment. "We can do this, Mare," he assured. "I know we're strong enough."

"Just open the goddamn page, Marshall!" she snapped impatiently.

So as he tried to swallow with is dry throat, he revealed the folded paper, and straightened it out to read aloud. Mary had her eyes closed, and Norah bounced on her unsteady stems in excitement, as if she were in on it all.

"A million dollar family," he trembled. "Baby Boy Shannon- Mann already has us on edge…"

Mary sighed raggedly, "A boy?"

"Ready the blues and hunter greens…" Marshall teased, observing Mary spread her fingers widely across her expanding stomach. "Why don't I get back on the phone for some tickets home?" he tried jovially. "Then, we can relay the good news to all!"

"No!" she ordered, looking to him. "I want this to stay between us…" Mary pleaded breathlessly. "I just don't want this to end in disaster."

Marshall slid the paper into his own jacket. "It won't."

"I've been telling myself that for the past few weeks," Mary responded sharply. "But, it seems more convincing when you say it."

He took her into his arms, and wished solemnly, the he too, was convinced.

It had only been days he had known he was going to be a father, and as thrilling as it was, now the excitement bubbled to fear, and worry. Mary shared these feelings. And even though, he wished more for a healthy baby for them both, no matter what, he wouldn't take back what they had done.

_**XXX**_

_**I know what defect it is, but probably won't reveal it quite yet. I want to watch you squirm! Mwahahahahah! **_

_**Anyway, please review and tell me what you think!**_


End file.
